


if these walls could talk (they've seen way too many things)

by softirwin



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, isntead of doing the 3002934 pieces of work i have due, literally me to my housemates today: i wrote a 26k fic, me in lockdown getting bored and conceptualising an au, them: and how much of your essays have you done, this is...a quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow.“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”-luke gets stuck at ashton's during lockdown
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 49
Kudos: 305





	if these walls could talk (they've seen way too many things)

**Author's Note:**

> me last week: i'll take a break from writing the malum fic and write a quick lashton quarantine fic solid 3k it'll be fine  
> me, 26k later:  
> my essays and dissertation that still need to be written: 
> 
> obviously there are some liberties taken here but this is LOOSELY based on the lockdown i am currently under also i almost named it after vegas girl by conor maynard what a banger 
> 
> i have to give two enormous thank yous at the start of this: firstly to [tess](http://miguelclifford.tumblr.com) for beta-reading this fic and giving me so many wonderful comments and ideas (this fic is seriously like 30% her at this point), for motivating me and for being just generally wonderful to talk to, and secondly to [jex](http://5sosnsfw.tumblr.com) for letting me complain about this fic for the past four days straight, for constantly hyping me up and for being my yin/yang i love u both and this fic owes u both its life 
> 
> as always pls talk to me on [tumblr](http://calumcest.tumblr.com) xo
> 
> hope u are all healthy and safe xx

**_-4 hours_ **

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens.

 _Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those_ _outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow._

Ashton sees it when his phone lights up obnoxiously, distracting him from the song he’s halfway through perfecting on drums. He picks it up, annoyed, intending to turn it around so it can’t distract him anymore, but the notification catches his eye. 

“Shit,” he says, reading the notification a second and third time, just to make sure. “Shit, shit- Luke!” He scrambles to his feet, throwing his drumsticks onto the floor with a loud clatter, taking the stairs back up to the ground floor two at a time, clutching his phone. “Luke!”

“Yeah?” Luke’s voice is muffled by walls, but Ashton can hear it’s coming from the living room, so he slams open the door, wincing a little at the sound the handle makes when it hits the wall. Luke, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Star Wars playing on the TV, throws him a look of surprise at the urgency clearly written all over Ashton’s face. 

“You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks, and Ashton doesn’t miss the brief hurt that flashes across his face. “No, not like that, I’m not kicking you out. They’re locking down the state.”

“What?” Luke asks, confused. Ashton thrusts his phone into Luke’s face. Luke scans the notification, eyes widening, and stands up so abruptly he sends Ashton’s phone flying onto the floor. “Shit, shit, sorry, I-”

“Fuck, don’t worry, get your stuff together,” Ashton says, picking his phone up and electing not to tell Luke about the new crack running from the top left-hand corner to the middle of the screen. 

“Shit, Ash, I can’t,” Luke says, forehead creased, running a hand through his hair. “I’m never going to make it that far in four hours with everyone else on the road.”

“Well, you’re not if you just fucking stand there, are you?” Ashton says, agitated. “I’ll get your stuff from down here.” Luke hesitates for a moment and then nods, running out of the room, and Ashton hears him thundering up the stairs to the guest room he’s been staying in.

Ashton swears under his breath as he tries to remember what the fuck Luke actually brought with him. He picks up the hoodie that Luke had slung over the arm of the couch, wrestles his phone charger out of the wall, and tucks the notebook full of lyrics Luke had brought for Ashton’s approval under his arm. Twisting on the spot, he looks around the room wildly for anything he might have missed, and decides it won’t be anything important if he _has_ missed something, nothing that can’t be replaced- 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, spotting Luke’s laptop, and clutches it close to his chest. That’s got to be all the important stuff now, he reckons, so he sprints up the stairs to the guest room to see Luke shoving all his stuff haphazardly in his bag.

“Bathroom?” Ashton asks, dropping everything in his arms on the bed, and Luke shakes his head, grabbing the hoodie and stuffing it in his bag. Ashton nods, running to the bathroom to grab Luke’s toothbrush, toothpaste – he hadn’t brought any mouthwash, had he? No, just the toothbrush and toothpaste – and is halfway back to the bedroom when he remembers Luke’s fancy electric razor and rushes back to the bathroom to grab it.

“Fuck,” Luke says, when Ashton gets back in and crams the bathroom items into Luke’s already overflowing bag. “Fuck, check the traffic, I have to pee.” Ashton pulls his phone out as Luke runs out of the room, getting up his Maps and calculating the route to Luke’s house.

Shit.

Six hours.

“Luke!” he shouts. “Luke, you have to leave _now_ , bro. It says six hours.” The toilet flushes, and Ashton hears a faint “ _Six_?” over the sound of the tap running. The door to the bathroom flies open, revealing an incredibly harassed-looking Luke Hemmings, hands dripping with water.

“I don’t have six hours,” Luke says.

“You can make it across the state line in four if you leave now,” Ashton says.

“Not if the traffic increases!” Luke sounds panicked now.

“Well, get a fucking move on then!” Ashton says, equally panicked. Luke nods, pushing past Ashton with wet hands to grab his bag from the guest room, and sprints down the stairs, Ashton in tow. 

“Fuck, where’d I leave my car keys?” Luke mutters, patting his pockets frantically.

“Put your shoes on, I’ll look for your keys,” Ashton says, grabbing Luke’s bag off him and shoving his hand in to feel around the bottom. It only takes him about ten seconds, by which time Luke’s straightening up, shoes on, and he slaps the key into Luke’s hand and runs to the door to open it. 

“Shit,” Luke says, running to his car and chucking his bag in the passenger seat, shutting it with a slam. “Bye, Ash, thanks for having me, love you, all that.” 

“Love you,” Ashton echoes. “Get home safe. Let me know. I’ll stay up.” Luke nods, pulling his car door shut, and doesn’t even bother putting his seatbelt on before backing out of Ashton’s driveway. Ashton feels his heart clench with both fear and worry, and watches Luke roar down the street until he turns the corner.

Fuck.

\------- 

**_-3 hours_ **

“Shit, Ash,” Calum says, when Ashton calls him half an hour later, having had a cup of tea to try and calm his nerves. “Is he going to make it back?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, biting his lip. “I fucking hope so. He should make it across the state line by midnight, depending on traffic.” There’s a distant mumbling at the other end of the line, and Ashton hears Calum informing Michael about what’s going on.

“…if he didn’t fucking live in _Vegas_ ,” is all he catches Michael saying, and, not for the first time, Ashton wholeheartedly agrees.

“Put me on speaker,” Ashton says. He hears some tapping, and then the static becomes a little more tinny. “Mike?”

“Hey, yeah,” Michael says, and Ashton can imagine the crease of worry between his brows. “So you said he should make it across the state line before midnight?”

“Depending on traffic,” Ashton reiterates, biting his fingernails – a habit he’d kicked, like, seventeen years ago.

“And if he can’t?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe they’ll be lenient?” Ashton says.

“In America?” Michael sounds sceptical.

“You have a point,” Calum says.

“At least you two are together,” Ashton says, trying to focus on the positive. “Look after yourselves, yeah? Stay indoors.” He can almost _hear_ Michael rolling his eyes.

“Right, like we have a choice,” he says.

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Calum says, in that soothing voice he uses to calm them all down. “Try not to worry, Ash. He’ll be alright.”

“Will he?” Ashton says, ripping a hangnail off. It fucking hurts, but he’s kind of glad for the distraction.

“If I can get stranded in Bali and Michael can get stranded on his own in America Luke can handle being stuck in California,” Calum says.

“Yeah, but it’s a _lockdown_ ,” Ashton says.

“Even better,” Michael says. “He can’t do anything stupid.”

“Where would he _go_ , though?” Ashton’s nervous train of thought is interrupted by a beeping, signalling someone’s trying to get through, and he holds his phone away from his ear to see it’s Luke. “Shit, he’s calling me. I’ll ring you back.” He doesn’t even wait for Calum and Michael to answer before picking up Luke’s call. 

“Luke?” he says.

“Ash?” he hears, Luke’s voice echoing and distant in his car. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you,” Ashton says. “Where are you?”

“I won’t make it,” Luke says. “The I-15’s totally backed up, I can’t even get onto it. Everyone’s trying to leave.” Ashton’s stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he says. “Can you get back to mine? You can stay here. 

“Are you sure?” Luke says. 

“‘Course,” Ashton says, the knot of worry in his stomach tightening. If Luke can’t even get _onto_ the I-15, what if he can’t make it back to Ashton’s?

“Alright,” Luke says. “I’ll call you when I’m near, then. Fucking hell, what the fuck?”

“What?” Ashton asks anxiously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, sorry, some guy just cut me off,” Luke says. “I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Drive safe.”

“Will do,” Luke says. “See you soon.” The line goes dead, and Ashton swallows, dialling Calum back.

“What’d he say?” Calum demands, picking up after half a ring.

“He’s not going to make it,” Ashton says. “Can’t even get on the I-15. He’s coming back here.”

“To LA?” Calum asks.

“Yeah, to mine,” Ashton says.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum says, and Ashton can hear the relief flooding his voice.

“I know,” Ashton says. “I hope he can get back here.”

“Of course he will, he’s got three hours. He’ll be alright, Ash. Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” Ashton grumbles, but the knot in his stomach loosens a little at Calum’s calming tone.

“Want me to stay on the phone?” Calum asks gently. Ashton thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head, momentarily forgetting that Calum can’t see him.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m going to, like, clean my house, or something. Burn off this nervous energy. Thanks, though.”

“No worries,” Calum says. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, exhaling and hoping that Calum can’t hear that it’s a little unsteady. “I’ll text you when he gets here.”

“Alright,” Calum says. “I’ll tell Mikey. He’s not going to say it, but he’s really fucking worried.” Ashton snorts. Typical Michael.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he says.

“Love you,” Calum says.

“Love you,” Ashton echoes, and there’s a click as Calum hangs up.

Fuck.

\-------

**_0 hours_ **

Ashton hoovers the entire house, dusts the living room and is halfway through dusting the kitchen, trying his best not to look at the clock (which by now has ticked past eleven p.m.), when he hears the faint sound of a car getting closer and closer. He throws down the duster, runs to the front door and yanks it open just in time to see Luke’s car pulling into his driveway. The tension in him dissipates entirely when Luke steps out of the car with his bag slung over his shoulder, raking his fingers through his bleached curls. Ashton almost sinks to his knees in relief.

“Hi,” Luke says, sounding tired but smiling nonetheless. Ashton pulls him in for a fierce hug, shakily breathing in the scent of warmth and _Luke_. Luke hugs back immediately, dropping his forehead on Ashton’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. Ashton’s not sure which of them is more relieved that he’s back. 

“C’mon,” Ashton mumbles after a moment. He doesn’t want to let go but is starting to feel the cool March breeze make the hair on his arms stand on end, and he shivers involuntarily as he stands aside to let Luke past. 

“Huh,” Luke says, wandering back into the living room. “This is cleaner than it was four hours ago.” Ashton snorts.

“Had to find some way to pass the time,” he says.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Luke says, an edge of nervousness in his voice. It kind of breaks Ashton’s heart a little bit, that even after all these years Luke still doesn’t _quite_ believe he’s good enough.

“Fucking hell, Luke, of course not,” Ashton says. Luke grins, eyes crinkling around the corners, and Ashton can’t help but grin back.

“Looks like I’m your new roommate, then,” Luke says.

“Perfect time for me to house-train you,” Ashton says, dodging the swat Luke sends his way. “I’m going to call Cal back, let him know you made it here. They were worried about you.”

“Were you all on the phone talking about me?” Luke says.

“Yeah, about how fucking stupid you are for buying a place in _Vegas_ when everyone else lives in LA,” Ashton says. Luke pulls a face.

“I don’t like LA,” he says.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn to,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling Calum. The phone rings once, and then there’s the scrambling sound of someone answering.

“Ash?” It’s Michael. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “He made it back.” Michael swears under his breath.

“Thank fuck,” he says. “Calum was really worried.”

“Yeah, sure, _Calum_ was really worried,” Ashton says pointedly. Michael never picks up Ashton’s calls after a single ring.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Michael huffs. “I’m going to tell Cal. Tell Luke he’s a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, and Ashton hears a distant _Cal, baby_ \- before the call cuts out.

“What’d Calum say?” Luke asks, throwing himself down on one of Ashton’s sofas and kicking his shoes off. Ashton frowns.

“It was Michael,” he says. “He said you’re a fucking idiot for buying a house in Vegas. And put your shoes in the hallway.” Luke rolls his eyes, but gets up and pads out to the hallway, shoes in hand.

“I told you, I don’t like LA,” he calls, and Ashton follows him, leaning against the doorframe as Luke slots his shoes neatly in Ashton’s shoe rack.

“Well, you’re stuck here now,” Ashton says. “Might as well get used to it.” 

“Well, technically I don’t need to get used to LA, since I can’t leave the fucking house,” Luke says, stifling a yawn. “Actually, I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Ashton nods, still wired from the adrenaline.He knows he’s going to crash in about half an hour and should probably get his teeth brushed and skincare done before that happens.

“I should sleep too,” he says, watching Luke stretch and yawn and thinking it might be the cutest thing he’s seen all day. “You know where towels are, and everything.” Luke nods, holding the back of his hand to his mouth as he yawns again. “Alright, well. See you in the morning, then,” Ashton says, starting upstairs as Luke goes to retrieve his bag from the living room. 

“Night, Ash,” Luke calls back. “And- um. Thanks for letting me stay. Again. It means a lot.”

“Shut up, Luke,” Ashton says fondly, pausing on the stairs. “You know I love spending time with you.” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton takes another step before he hears a slightly shy-sounding: 

“Not as much as I love spending time with you.” 

Ashton grins, rolling his eyes and blaming the curl of warmth in his stomach on the remnants of adrenaline, and heads upstairs.

\-------

**_9 hours_ **

When Ashton wakes up the next morning, he immediately rolls over to check his phone. He’s got about fifty texts in the group chat, a bunch from his mum asking him to call and tell her he’s okay, and a couple of notifications from his news apps.

 _California state lockdown explained: 5 things you need to know_.

_CA on lockdown – citizens can only leave their house for food._

_California lockdown: What does it mean for you?_

He clicks on the first one and quickly scrolls through the news article. As far as he can tell, he can only leave his house to go grocery shopping and get medication. Fucking hell.

He scrolls over to the group chat, quickly skimming through the messages – Luke and Michael bickering about cereal, Calum trying to talk about the lockdown, Luke and Michael turning to squabbling over the lockdown – and then clicks out of his messages and into his FaceTime, dialling his mum with no expectation of her picking up, since it’s half three in the morning in Sydney so she should be at work. To Ashton’s surprise, however, she picks up after two rings.

“Ash!” she says, sounding tinny, looking dark and pixelated. “Thank fuck you’re alright."

“Hey, mum,” Ashton says, frowning. “Aren’t you at work?" 

“I am, but I had to talk to you, sweetie,” his mum says, moving into some light, and Ashton can see that she’s in her work uniform. “Are you alright? Have you got enough food? What about the other boys?”

“I’m alright, mum,” Ashton says, aiming for soothing. “I’m home, and they’re letting us out for food anyway. Luke couldn’t make it back to Vegas, though, so he’s staying with me.” His mum makes a sound of motherly distress. 

“Oh, no,” she says. “Poor Luke. Poor _Liz_ – I’ll have to give her a ring tomorrow. What about Mike and Calum?”

“They’re alright,” Ashton says. “They’re at home.”

“Well, at least you’re all safe,” his mum says, sounding relieved. “It’s fucking scary, isn’t it?” Ashton shrugs, the duvet rustling as he moves.

“Kind of,” he says. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like it’s going to be any different than normal. Especially for Michael,” he tacks on as an afterthought. His mum laughs. “How about you? What’s it like in Australia? Are you, Harry, and Lauren alright?”

“Oh, it’s not nearly as bad,” his mum says. “I’m worried about the people in here, though – I don’t want to be bringing anything in. I’m keeping watch over Harry when he washes his hands after going to the loo.” Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust him,” he says. He opens his mouth to add something else, but is interrupted by his bedroom door slamming open. Luke’s standing in the doorway, grinning cheerfully, holding two mugs of coffee. 

“I made you coffee,” he says. “Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?” Ashton nods, turning the phone around so Luke can see his mum.

“It’s mum,” he says, and Luke brightens, waving at the camera.

“Hi, Anne!” he says. “How are you?”

“Hey, Luke!” Ashton’s mum says. “Ash told me you couldn’t get home.” Luke nods as he walks over to the bed, setting the two mugs down carefully on Ashton’s bedside table. Ashton loves him. 

“Yeah, I tried driving back last night but couldn’t even get on the highway,” he says, sitting down on Ashton’s bed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ashton’s mum says. “At least you’re with Ash – I’m sure that’ll make your mum feel better.”

“Well, at least someone’s happy about it,” Ashton says, earning himself an elbow from Luke. Ashton’s mum laughs.

“Listen, I’ve got to head back to work now, sweetie,” she says. “I’m so glad to hear you’re alright, though. Stay safe, please.”

“Will do,” Ashton says. “Speak to you soon, alright, mum? Love you.”

“Love you, Anne,” Luke says.

“Bye, boys, love you,” Ashton’s mum says, waving, and then Ashton’s screen goes blank.

“She’s so sweet,” Luke says, stretching out next to Ashton.

“Did your mum call?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods.

“All she wanted to know was that I wasn’t on my own in Vegas,” he admits, and Ashton snorts.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” he says. Luke scowls. 

“I can live on my own," he says, indignant. "I can cook pasta. And make coffee.” As though he’s just remembered, he reaches over to the bedside table and hands Ashton one of the mugs. He looks so proud of himself that Ashton’s heart melts a little.

“You just have to press a button on the machine,” he says, but he’s grinning as he takes a sip. 

“Actually, I have to press, like, three buttons,” Luke says. “And then put in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk.” Ashton doesn’t think his stomach should be full of butterflies at the fact Luke remembers that, but whatever. It’s early, and he’s probably still half-asleep. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, Gordon Ramsay, I take it back. That’s a Michelin star operation right there.” Luke scowls again, and swats Ashton’s arm lightly. 

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you for the next three weeks,” he says. 

" _You’re_ stuck with _me_?” Ashton says. “Sorry, whose house is this?” A grin unfurls on Luke’s lips.

“It’ll be mine by the time I’m done with it,” he says.

\-------

**_1 day, 13 hours_ **

Luke wanders into the basement while Ashton’s drumming the next afternoon. He stands idly in the doorway, simply watching until Ashton finishes the song and pulls off his headphones. 

“You good?” Ashton asks, breathing heavily. Luke nods, sitting on one of the beanbags on the other side of the room.

“Just wanted to hear you play,” he says. “I’m bored.” Ashton rolls his eyes, but sets his headphones to one side.

“You’re already bored?” he says. “We’ve got three more weeks of this. Minimum.” Luke groans, tripping his head back and thunking it against the wall.

“Don’t remind me,” he says, closing his eyes. “Play something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Old Me,” Luke says.

“Why don’t you get a guitar?” Ashton suggests. “Play with me.” Luke shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, not opening his eyes. “I just want to watch you, for a bit.” Ashton cocks his head.

“Yeah?” he says, feeling something oddly warm coursing through his veins. He really should get aircon for the basement. 

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Ashton says, reaching for his headphones.

He drums his way through Old Me, and then Thin White Lies for the hell of it, only setting his headphones aside when Easier comes on shuffle, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and throwing Luke a glance. He’s staring at Ashton. It’s a look that Ashton’s never seen on his face before, eyes following the heavy rising and falling of Ashton’s chest.

“You alright?” Ashton asks. Luke blinks, snapping himself out of whatever headspace he was in, and nods.

“It’s hot in here,” he says.

“Yeah, I haven’t got aircon down here yet,” Ashton says, a touch apologetically. Luke cocks his head.

“You’re pretty hot too,” he says.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ashton says sheepishly, grinning as he wipes his forehead again. Gross. He needs to wash his hands. “I’ll shower after.” Luke catches his eye, and Ashton’s not sure if he’s imagining the soft pink blush creeping across his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean like that,” Luke says, and he sounds a little unsure of himself.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Luke says, all in a rush. “I’m going back up. Gonna try and write.” Ashton frowns but nods, watching Luke as he pulls himself up from the beanbag and starts back up the stairs.

Ashton doesn’t think any more of it, because Luke often says things that don’t make sense, just puts his headphones back on and scrolls to Red Desert.

\-------

**_1 day, 18 hours_ **

“I’m hungry,” Luke announces at half-past six.

“Okay,” Ashton says, focused on the screen in front of him. Why can’t he fucking overtake the bastard next to him?

“Ash,” Luke says, and there’s a definite pout to his tone.

“Yeah?”

“I’m _hungry_.”

“You’re twenty-three, Luke,” Ashton says, eyes still not straying from the screen. “Do you need chaperoning in the kitchen, or something?” There’s a moment of silence from Luke, and Ashton throws him a brief glance to see his expression. He looks a little torn. 

“I just thought it’d be nice if we ate together,” Luke mumbles after a moment. Ashton can’t help the smile that unfurls on his lips, accompanied by a warm feeling in his stomach. 

“A day into lockdown and you’re already getting domestic,” he teases, sensing Luke’s embarrassment and wanting to push a little further. He sees Luke scowl in his peripheral vision.

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he doesn’t mean it. “I’ll go and make myself dinner, then.” He stands up to leave, but Ashton reaches out and catches his leg as he walks past, making him stumble and fall into Ashton’s lap. Ashton squawks, trying to wrestle his controller out from underneath Luke, but it only makes Ashton’s car spin in circles on the track, and the race finishes just as Ashton gets his controller back in his hands. 

“Look what you did,” Ashton says accusingly, pointing at the screen. 

“You did that yourself,” Luke says, blinking up at Ashton from his lap. “You’re not very good at videogames.” Ashton flips him off.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing at Luke’s back with his knees. “I’m hungry now, too.” Luke stands up obediently, holding out a hand for Ashton to pull himself up with, and he tugs with such force that Ashton almost stumbles into Luke. 

“Jesus, when did you get that strong?” Ashton mutters, steadying himself, and Luke grins bashfully. 

“I told you, I’ve been working out,” he says, heading to the kitchen. Ashton follows in his wake, frowning. 

“Yeah, but not like _that,_ ” he says. “What are we making?”

“What have we got?”

“Uh…I can make a Thai curry?” Luke nods enthusiastically, hopping up on the counter and letting his legs dangle. “You’re helping me though, dickhead. I’m not a maid.”

“C’mon, Ash,” Luke whines. “You know I can’t cook.”

“Well, lockdown’s the perfect time to learn,” Ashton says, bustling over to the fridge and taking out the ingredients he needs. “You can cut up the chicken.” Luke wrinkles his nose but hops back off the counter and saunters over to the cutting board Ashton’s just placed out, pulling the chicken breasts out of the container and grabbing a knife. 

“How big?” he asks. Ashton looks over from where he’s chopping spring onions.

“Little strips,” he says.

“That’s not a size,” Luke says, frowning, but he starts chopping anyway. Ashton watches him from the corner of his eye just to check that he’s cutting it properly, taking in the way he’s furrowing his brows in concentration, biting the corner of his lip where his lip ring used to be absent-mindedly. He misses Luke’s lip ring.

“You ever think about getting your lip re-pierced?” Ashton asks, and Luke looks at him in surprise.

“Not really,” he says. “Why?” Ashton shrugs.

“It was cute,” he says.

“Maybe I’ll have to get it re-pierced, then,” Luke says. “If you think it’s cute.” Ashton scowls, certain Luke’s taking the piss.

“I’m trying to compliment you, arsehole,” he says, finishing with the spring onions and moving on to baby corn. “Can you get the coconut milk and curry paste out of the fridge?”

“I’m trying to let you,” Luke says, pushing the chopped chicken further up the counter to make room for the coconut milk and Thai green curry paste. Ashton’s not really sure what he means by that, so he chooses to ignore it. “What now?" 

“Rice,” Ashton says, nodding at the cupboard above Luke’s head. Luke reaches for the one next to it. “No, the one right in front of you. No- Luke, the one _right in front of you_. To your right. Right, Luke, that’s left. Ri- yes, that one. Top shelf. Jesus.”

“I’m not good at directions,” Luke says, reaching up for the rice. Ashton’s eyes fall to the sliver of skin that gets exposed as his shirt rides up, smooth and pale.

“You need to buy shirts that fit you,” he says.

“My shirts fit me,” Luke says indignantly, as he tugs the hem down. “See?” Ashton rolls his eyes fondly. 

“Put the kettle on,” he says, leaning over the hob to grab the cutting board with the chicken on and scraping it into the pan. It sizzles satisfyingly, and Ashton pokes it around with the spatula, leaning back against the counter. Luke watches him wordlessly, eyes following Ashton’s hand as it moves back and forth.

“You have such long fingers,” he comments after a moment, just as the kettle boils. He reaches over and fills the pan with the rice, without Ashton even having to prompt him. 

“It’s a gift,” Ashton says, drumming his fingers on the spatula.

“To who?” Ashton cocks his head. 

“Whoever I decide,” he leers, waggling his eyebrows up and down and expecting Luke to laugh. Luke, however, bites his lip and looks steadfastly away from Ashton to the rice. Ashton decides not to comment, just adds the curry paste and stirs it around a little before adding the coconut milk. 

“This smells good,” Luke says, after a while.

“Shocking,” Ashton deadpans. “Something that takes more than two seconds to cook actually smells good?” Luke grins.

“I’m looking forward to eating your cooking for the next three weeks,” he says. Ashton flicks a drop of coconut milk at him, and Luke flinches away with a quiet squeal.

“I’m not your maid,” Ashton reiterates, dumping the onions and baby corn in the mixture and turning the heat down to a simmer.

“Shame,” Luke says, grinning. “I’d love to see you in a maid outfit.” This time Ashton lets the spatula go and rounds on Luke, darting his hands out to tickle him before Luke has time to pull away, and Luke shrieks, collapsing in on himself with giggles and pleas for mercy. Ashton doesn’t relent, feeling Luke’s legs buckling and grabbing him around the waist with one arm to steady him as he keeps tickling, until Luke’s pleas start coming out more gasped and sincere, at which point he lets go and lets Luke sink to the floor, breathless and red-faced. 

“You’re a bastard,” Luke says, between pants, but he’s grinning. Ashton holds out a hand for Luke to pull himself up on, and Luke takes it, wobbling a little as he stands upright. He makes to let go of Ashton’s hand, but Ashton holds on, using it to pull Luke close to him and wrap his arms around Luke’s broad shoulders. Luke immediately hugs back, slotting his chin into the crook of Ashton’s neck, and Ashton grins as the soft, warm scent of Luke goes straight to his head. 

“I _would_ look sexy in a maid outfit, though,” he murmurs, and he feels Luke’s laugh reverberate through his entire body.

“You look sexy in anything,” Luke mumbles, pressing a kiss to Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton’s grin widens. 

“Even my blue jumpsuit?” Luke groans.

“Okay, except in the blue jumpsuit,” he says, and Ashton squeezes his waist, making him squawk and jump away. Ashton steps back to the hob, stirring through the curry and deciding it’s probably done now. 

“Grab us some plates,” he says, nodding at the cupboard with the plates in as he turns off the heat – that, at least, Luke knows. Luke nods obediently, fetching two plates out of the cupboard and traipsing into the dining room to put them on the table. 

“D’you want a drink?” he calls, as Ashton grabs some heat-protecting mats and carries the rice and curry into the dining room.

“Yeah, just some water,” Ashton says, passing Luke on his way back to the kitchen. He settles down in his seat, inhaling the aroma – Luke’s right, it does smell fucking good – and waits for Luke to return with his glass and a jug of water.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Luke says, eyeing the curry with the look of a man who hasn’t eaten in weeks, not a man staying in a house with a fully-stocked fridge. 

“You can wash up,” Ashton says, helping himself to a big serving of rice and curry.

“You can dry, then,” Luke counters. Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes next to him, and he glances over to see another news notification.

 _CA lockdown expected to last three months_.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“What?” Ashton slides his phone over to Luke, whose eyes widen as he reads the notification. 

“Shit,” he says. “I don’t- I don’t fucking have anything with me. I literally have, like, four pairs of underwear here.” 

“We’ll have to go clothes shopping,” Ashton says.

“The clothes shops are all shut, idiot,” Luke says. Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, shit,” Ashton says. “Uh. Is Target still open?”

\-------

**_3 days, 16 hours_ **

Two days later, they’re standing in Target, having queued for forty minutes just to get into the store. 

“I don’t like any of these,” Luke says, pulling a face as he fingers the arm of a plaid shirt.

“I think we’re a bit beyond shopping for taste,” Ashton says, grabbing, like, seven black shirts and chucking them in the shopping trolley. He throws in some pink, red, and blue ones for good measure, too, because Luke can’t be dressed in all black every day. “Are any of these jeans going to fit you?”

“Probably not,” Luke says, but he thumbs through the sizes and throws five pairs of black jeans in the trolley anyway. Ashton takes two out and replaces them with blue jeans. “I’m going to have my ankles out for the next three months.” 

“Raunchy,” Ashton says, sweeping some white shirts in. “You’re making me swoon.” Luke scowls as he throws in a bunch of socks, and they move to the next aisle, where Luke immediately brightens as he spots the brightly coloured, patterned button-down shirts. 

“I like these,” he says decisively, picking up a few and holding them against himself.

“Well, there you go,” Ashton says, grabbing a bunch and putting them on the pile of clothes in the trolley. “You pick out some shirts you like, and I’ll go find underwear.” He rounds the corner into the next aisle, and picks out five different packs of briefs for Luke, carefully selecting the most obnoxiously patterned ones he can find (and one pack of black ones). He goes back into the last aisle to find that Luke’s cleared out half of the rack of the patterned button-downs, and rolls his eyes as he throws the underwear in the shopping trolley.

“Are we done?” he asks. Luke nods, and Ashton pushes the (considerably heavier) shopping trolley in the direction of the tills. 

“Hang on, I want chocolate,” Luke says, and disappears off to the left before Ashton even has time to protest about having to haul the fifteen kilos of clothes onto the conveyor belt on his own.

“Get me Skittles!” Ashton shouts after him, because it’s the least Luke can do, which earns him judgemental looks from two middle-aged women nearby, and starts unpacking the trolley onto the conveyor belt. This poor cashier.

“Good afternoon!” the cashier chirps.

“Sorry about this,” Ashton says apologetically, as the cashier takes in the mountain of clothes with wide eyes. “My friend couldn’t get back home before the lockdown, so he has to buy himself an entirely new wardrobe for the next three months.”

“No worries, sir,” the cashier says cheerily, and starts scanning.

“I got you two bags,” Luke says, skidding up to the conveyor belt. “And I got myself a good amount of chocolate, because the less we can go outside the better. I got you some chocolate too.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Ashton says, and Luke grins at him as he dumps the seven hundred items in his arms on the conveyor belt behind his new clothes

“Stocking up?” the cashier asks, and Luke laughs, a little embarrassed. 

“Trying to butter my friend up,” he says, batting his eyelashes at Ashton, who narrows his eyes as he starts on his second bag of clothes.

“For what?” he says suspiciously.

“You’ll find out,” Luke says. 

“No, no, I don’t like that,” Ashton says. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Luke says indignantly. “Well. Not yet.”

“Not _yet_?”

“That’ll be two hundred and thirty dollars, sir,” the cashier says. 

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. “I’m going to have to stream CALM like, five hundred thousand times.” Ashton laughs, bagging up the sweets and chocolate and dropping it on top of the five bags of clothes.

“Thanks,” he says to the cashier, Luke echoing him, and they head back to the car.

“What did you do?” Ashton demands, as soon as they’re out of the store. Luke stares at him, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Nothing!” he says, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Ashton doesn’t like the look of. “I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

“I have zero qualms about kicking you out of my house if you fuck with my kit,” Ashton warns, loading two bags into the car.

“Michael and Calum would take me in,” Luke says dismissively, pulling a bar of chocolate out of the bag of sweets and hopping into the passenger seat.

“They wouldn’t be allowed,” Ashton calls, dropping the shopping trolley back off at the return point they’d thankfully parked close to. “Plus, I don’t think you’d want to third-wheel them for the next three months.”

“True,” Luke says, when Ashton gets into the car. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend three months cooped up with than you.”

“Funny,” Ashton deadpans, looking over his shoulder as he reverses out of the bay.

“Who said I was joking?” Luke says, a touch defensive, but when Ashton turns to look at him, he’s buried in his phone.

Whatever, Ashton thinks, debating for a split second whether or not to ram into the woman who just walked obnoxiously close to the back of his car. Luke says strange things sometimes.

\-------

**_6 days, 10 hours_ **

Ashton’s woken up on Friday morning by the buzz of low voices, muffled by the walls. He blinks blearily, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes, and rolls over to check his phone. There’s nothing particularly exciting, so he decides to be productive, get out of bed, and make himself a coffee before his shower.

He realises the voices are Michael and Luke’s when he gets close to the kitchen, bare feet padding silently on the tile, and he’s about a foot away from the door when he hears his name.

“-tell Ashton,” Michael’s saying, voice tinny from the internet connection, so Ashton does what any sane person would do when they hear their name come up in conversation between two of their best friends – he eavesdrops.

“I can’t,” Luke says, and he sounds distressed. “I’m telling you, Mike, I’ve tried. I’m trying. I can’t just _say it_.”

“Why not?” Michael asks. 

“I don’t have the _balls_ ,” Luke says. There’s a staticky sigh from Michael. 

“Well, you can either keep dropping hints that he refuses to take, or you can tell him,” Michael says. Luke groans, and Ashton hears the scraping sound of a chair on tile. 

“How the fuck am I going to survive three months here?” he says, and Ashton’s stomach drops.

Of course, it’s not exactly the most unexpected thing in the world, but it still kind of stings. Ashton probably wouldn’t want to spend three months cooped up in a house with Michael or Calum, but he’d thought things were different with him and Luke. _He’d_ never had a problem with the idea of spending three months together, twenty-four hours a day, and he’d just assumed that Luke felt the same. But it stands to reason, really – nobody _really_ wants to spend three months straight with only _one_ person, do they? It’s not something he should take personally (even though he definitely is) – just because Ashton can’t get enough of Luke’s company doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. 

“…still think you should just tell him,” Ashton catches Michael saying, and tunes back into the conversation, stomach still unpleasantly heavy. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Luke says. “What if he says no? And then I’m stuck here for three months?”

“He won’t,” Michael says reassuringly.

“You don’t _know_ that,” Luke says, and he sounds upset now. “Fuck, Michael. How the fuck do I end this?”

“You tell him,” Michael says. “Or, like, you just keep feeling like this until the lockdown’s over.” 

“Fuck,” Luke says, and Ashton decides he’s had enough, he’s going in for his fucking coffee, fuck Luke Hemmings and his backstabbing. He pushes the door open, and Luke jumps, immediately looking fearful.

“Morning,” he says, aiming for cheerful, but Ashton hears the edge of anxiety in his voice.

“Morning,” Ashton returns, trying for a smile. “Hey, Mike.”

“Hey, Ash,” Michael says. “I should probably head now, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ashton says, breezing past Luke into the kitchen and busying himself with turning on the coffee machine so he won’t have to look at him. “Just making a coffee, then having a shower. Won’t be a minute. Sorry for interrupting."

“It’s your fucking house, dude,” Michael says, amusement clear in his tone. “I really should go, though. Cal’s got some elaborate obstacle course set up for Duke, and I’m planning on tempting him awry with treats.” 

“You’re such a dickhead,” Luke tells him, but the edge of anxiety is still in his tone and he doesn’t seem fully focused on Michael. Ashton wishes the coffee machine would hurry up.

“Well, someone’s got to keep Calum on his toes,” Michael says. “We’ll talk soon, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luke mumbles. “Bye, Mike.”

“Bye, Ash! Love you,” Michael calls. 

“Love you too,” Ashton shouts back, and then there’s silence. 

“Hi,” Luke says, suddenly at Ashton’s shoulder, and Ashton’s going to implement a wear-shoes-on-the-tiles rule so that he can hear Luke coming. 

“Hey,” Ashton says, eyes on the coffee machine.

“Are you alright?” Luke asks, touching Ashton’s elbow gently. Ashton shrugs, the motion displacing Luke’s hand.

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” he says eventually, when it becomes clear Luke’s just going to wait until he has an answer, and figuring it’s best to get it over with sooner rather than later. 

“What?” Luke sounds genuinely shocked, and Ashton tears his eyes away from the fascinating drip-drip-drip of the coffee to Luke’s face.

“I know it’s not ideal, being stuck together for three months,” Ashton says, and a look of hurt flashes across Luke’s face.

“Oh,” Luke mumbles, averting his eyes. “I- sorry. I’m imposing, aren’t I?”

“What? No, Luke, I- fuck, no. I just…I heard you talking to Michael,” Ashton admits. “About, like, how you can’t be here for three months with me.” Luke’s look of hurt immediately turns to one of sheer terror.

“You…uh, what did you hear?” he asks, aiming for nonchalant, but the complete draining of blood from his face gives him away. Ashton would feel pretty guilty if he were caught saying he didn’t want to spend time with Luke to Michael too.

“Enough,” Ashton says, and it comes out a little bitter. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Like. We can figure something out. You can have the upstairs floor, or something. I’ll stay in the basement.” 

“What? Ash, fuck, no- it’s your house, and-”

“Well, for the time being it’s your house too,” Ashton says.

“No, I’m- look, I meant what I said the other day,” Luke says, carding a hand through his sleep-tousled curls. “There’s no one I’d rather spend three months stuck in a house with than you.” Ashton frowns.

“Luke, it’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to, like, lie to me, you’re my best friend and-” 

“No,” Luke interrupts. “I mean it, Ash.” He sounds so sincere, looks so earnest, that Ashton has no choice but to believe him. Luke’s a shitty liar, and Ashton always knows when he’s not being truthful. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, because if that’s the truth, then- “Then what was all that about?” he asks, inclining his head back towards Luke’s phone on the table. 

“That? Uh,” Luke says, eyes widening. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Okay, something, but not that,” Luke says, looking a little guilty. “Definitely not that I don’t want to be here, ‘cause I do.”

“Okay,” Ashton says after a moment, and with a little difficulty, because Luke’s allowed to keep secrets from him, even if it hurts. “You promise? Because I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”

“I’m not,” Luke says hurriedly. “It’s nothing like that. I promise.” The knot in Ashton’s stomach loosens considerably, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says again, and this time he even manages a smile. 

“Are we good?” Luke says anxiously. Ashton slides his arms around Luke and pulls him in for a tight hug, resting his cheek on Luke’s shoulder and pecking a kiss behind his ear. 

“We’re good,” Ashton says, savouring the way Luke’s arms automatically slip around Ashton’s waist and pull him tighter, flush against his body, so that Ashton can feel Luke warm against every inch of him. 

“Mm,” he says, sighing contentedly. “I could stay like this all day. Wouldn’t need to pay my heating bills.” 

“I think my neck would hurt from leaning down to your height,” Luke says, and Ashton pinches his arm.

“Dickhead,” he murmurs, and then he’s interrupted by the coffee machine beeping obnoxiously. Reluctantly, Ashton disentangles himself from Luke, reaching over and turning the machine off.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Luke says, and if Ashton’s not mistaken, he’s blushing slightly. Weird.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take a shower,” Ashton says, blowing on his coffee to cool it down a little.

“Can I watch?” Luke says, voice innocent but eyes mischievous. Ashton’s not really sure what to do with that. 

“You want to watch me soap up my balls?” he says, raising his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his coffee. Luke shrugs, a little pink-cheeked.

“Could always just do it for you,” he suggests, and Ashton, mug still in his mouth, aims a kick at his shin which Luke doesn’t quite manage to dodge in time. “Ow, fucking hell.” 

“Don’t mock my ball-washing routine,” Ashton says, pointing at Luke accusingly. “Never had any complaints so far.” 

“I was _offering_ ,” Luke says, and Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“Sure you were,” he says, starting in the direction of the bathroom. “Go and get dressed. I’m going to shower.” 

“Leave the door open,” Luke calls after him, and Ashton laughs. 

“Fuck off,” he shouts back, smile evident in his voice, expecting to hear Luke laugh too, but he’s silent. 

Weird. 

\------- 

**_1 week, 1 day, 18 hours_ **

It only takes about a week for Ashton to remember why they have a blanket ‘don’t let Luke choose the movie’ rule. 

“No, Luke, I’m not watching fucking Frozen with you,” he says, for the fourth time in about two minutes. 

“Why not?” Luke demands, pouting slightly. Ashton tries not to think about the exact hue of his pink lips. 

“ _Because_ \- y’know what, actually, I don’t think I need to justify myself on that one,” Ashton says. “Can’t we watch, like, Family Guy, or something?” 

“Wanting to watch _Family Guy_ definitely requires justifying,” Luke says stroppily. “Or possibly a lobotomy.” Ashton scowls at him.

“Alright, how about Pulp Fiction?” 

“That’s so fucking long,” Luke groans.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” Ashton says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “We’re so busy. We have so many plans. We couldn’t _possibly_ watch a three hour long movie.” Luke scowls, and throws a cushion at him.

“I have a suggestion,” he announces. Ashton throws him a wary look, chucking the cushion back at him. 

“If you say Frozen again-”

“Frozen 2,” Luke says, a smug look on his face, and Ashton’s had enough. He launches himself across the coffee table and onto Luke, landing haphazardly in his lap and reaching out to tickle him. Luke squeals, bucking his legs into Ashton’s arse uncomfortably, and squirms underneath him, trying to get him to stop. Ashton wrestles Luke back with his spare hand, pinning his arm to the back of the sofa as he gets his legs on either side of Luke, positioning himself so that Luke can’t move his legs. He doesn’t relent with the tickling until Luke’s red-faced and gasping for air.

“You bastard,” Luke says, breathing heavily, but he’s grinning. A curl’s fallen into his eye, and Ashton brushes it away without thinking, catching the way Luke’s breath hitches slightly on the intake as he does it. He hopes Luke’s not, like, developing asthma from the LA air. 

“I’m not watching Frozen,” Ashton says, watching Luke blink at him. He’s got such pretty eyes. “Or Frozen 2,” he adds quickly, seeing Luke open his mouth. Luke closes his mouth again, frowning. 

“It’s the least you can do after attacking me like that,” he says, still a little breathless. 

“Don’t give me reason to attack you, then,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke’s eyes are really fucking blue up close, he thinks. He doesn’t remember his lashes being that long, either.

“What?” Luke asks, and Ashton blinks, shaking himself out of it.

“Huh?” 

“You were staring.” Ashton feels colour rising to his cheeks. 

“I wasn’t,” he says. Luke looks amused. 

“You were,” he says. “What?” Ashton shrugs, not quite sure why he’s uncomfortable. It’s only Luke, after all, and it’s not like he doesn’t compliment Calum or Michael in his head too. 

“Your eyes are fucking gorgeous,” he says, and Luke smiles, a small, shy smile that Ashton hasn’t seen in far too long. 

“Yeah?” he says, sounding pleased, eyes lit up. Ashton suddenly thinks he would compliment Luke until his dying breath if it’ll keep him this happy. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says, tucking yet another stray curl behind Luke’s ear. “You’re really fucking pretty, Luke.” Luke ducks his head, embarrassed, but Ashton can see his grin and the crinkling in the corner of his eyes, and his heart swells at the knowledge that it’s because of _him_. He loves making Luke smile. 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Luke mumbles, and Ashton laughs. 

“This whole pandemic thing has been an elaborate set up,” he says, rolling off of Luke’s lap and feeling a sudden coolness on his thighs at the loss of contact. He shuffles down the sofa and rests his head on Luke’s lap to make up for it, blinking up at him. Luke leans down a little, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hi,” he says, voice soft. 

“Hi,” Ashton says. 

“Please don’t look up my nose,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. 

“Sexy,” he deadpans. Luke grins.

“You look cute like this,” Luke says, and Ashton’s stomach swoops pleasantly. He likes compliments ( _and apparently_ , a little voice in his head says, _he really likes them coming from Luke_ ). 

“You’re just saying that to try and get in my pants,” Ashton retorts, and Luke’s eyes glint playfully. 

“Is it working?” he says. Ashton huffs out a laugh. 

“I mean, at this rate,” he says, referring to his incredibly long dry spell and hoping Luke gets the gist without him having to elaborate further. 

“Charming,” Luke says mock-angrily, shoving Ashton off his lap and almost off the sofa. “I’m only an option when no one else is.” Ashton, steadying himself on the sofa, looks up, worried he’s actually hurt Luke’s feelings - because Luke can be kind of sensitive about these things - but sees his eyes twinkling. 

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” Ashton jokes, shuffling back onto the sofa and throwing Luke a pleading look, because there’s no room for him to lie down if he can’t curl up in Luke’s lap. Luke sends him a righteous glare, but moves his arms out of his lap, and Ashton wriggles back into it happily. 

They lull into a comfortable silence for a moment, and Luke brings his hand down to stroke through Ashton’s curls almost absent-mindedly, gazing at the TV with a thoughtful expression. Ashton pushes into Luke’s hand, eyes fluttering shut with a contented sigh - no one ever plays with his hair, and he fucking loves it. He could easily stay here for the rest of the day, he thinks. 

“Would you?” Luke blurts suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“Huh?” 

“Would you,” Luke repeats, and it sounds like he’s steeled himself for whatever response Ashton’s going to give. 

“Would I what?” 

“Fuck me.” Ashton’s eyes fly open. “I- as in, like. Hypothetically. Not, would you fuck me, as, like, a request.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Ashton says. “I- where’s this coming from?” Luke shrugs, fingers scratching against Ashton’s scalp. Ashton can almost feel the heat emanating from Luke’s face.

“Would you?” he repeats stubbornly, despite the fierce blush on his cheeks, not letting Ashton dodge the question. 

The thing is, Ashton’s thought about it a few times. Mostly when he was younger - when he realised he was into boys, when he found out Luke was into boys, when he found out Michael and Calum had been fucking behind their backs since they were, like, sixteen - but he doesn’t think that’s particularly unusual. He’d been a fucking teenager, for Christ’s sake - another human being was pretty much all it’d taken back then. 

But there’ve been a few flashes in more recent years - when Luke’s wearing some particularly tight pants, when he’s sweaty and panting after running around on stage for two hours, when he’s sleepy and his voice is all low and husky. Ashton still doesn’t think it’s that weird, privately, because he’s going through a dry spell and Luke is objectively hot, but he thinks it’d probably be weird to tell Luke that. 

On the other hand, he doesn’t want to tell Luke no, because Luke’s sensitive and would probably take that to mean that he’s the most hideous person alive, or something. And he can’t go for the ‘but we’re friends!’ route - he’s fucked one too many of his friends for that shit to fly. So Ashton’s left with no choice but to tell the truth. 

“Hypothetically?” he says. “Yeah.” Luke blinks, looking almost shocked at Ashton’s answer, as though he’d been waiting for Ashton to say no. Ashton kind of wishes he had, now. 

“Yeah?” Luke echoes. Ashton shrugs, and gazes steadfastly at the ceiling. 

“You’re really fucking hot,” he says, and immediately regrets adding the qualifiers. _You’re hot_ would have sufficed.

“Yeah, but…” Luke trails off. 

“But?” It’s Luke’s turn to shrug, and Ashton waits it out, but Luke doesn’t say anything else. Ashton doesn’t think that’s fair, so he says: “Would you?” 

“Would I?” Luke says, moving his fingers down to scratch just over Ashton’s ear, and Ashton can tell he’s stalling for time. 

“Fuck me, dickhead,” Ashton says. Luke swallows, and Ashton tries not to think about that given the current circumstances. 

“‘Course,” Luke says, and somehow, it’s different when Luke says it. Ashton saying he’d fuck Luke - well, yeah, that’s a given - but _Luke_ saying he’d fuck _Ashton_? That puts a whole different dimension on things, makes him wonder just how much Luke’s thought about it, what he’s thought about, when he’s thought about it- 

“Yeah?” is all he can muster in response, mind racing. 

“Hypothetically or not,” Luke says, all in a rush, as though he’s had to build up the courage to say it. Ashton doesn’t quite understand what he means, but whatever. 

“So you think I’m fit?” Ashton says, grinning, and Luke scowls down at him. 

“We were having a _moment_ ,” he says, but there’s no heat behind his words, and his cheeks are still tinged with pink. 

“We’re still having a moment,” Ashton says. “I think you’re hot, you think I’m fit. That’s a moment.” 

“Why don’t we fuck, then?” Luke says, and Ashton laughs, but Luke doesn’t. 

“C’mon,” Ashton says, pulling himself out of Luke’s lap with a little difficulty. “Let’s actually watch a fucking movie.”

“So...Frozen or Frozen 2?” Luke says hopefully. 

\------- 

**_1 week, 5 days, 14 hours_ **

Ashton doesn’t think about the conversation again for a good few days. 

It’s not until he’s on FaceTime with Calum, catching him up on the previous few days, that he thinks about it again. 

“So,” he says carefully. “Luke and I had a bit of a...uh, conversation the other day.” Calum’s eyebrows fly up into his beanie. 

“Yeah?” he says. “About what?” 

“He asked me if I’d fuck him,” Ashton admits. “As in, like, hypothetically, not like he was asking me to.”

“And?” Calum says. “What was the verdict?” 

“Well, obviously,” Ashton says, as though Calum’s an idiot. “Who _wouldn’t_ fuck Luke? _You’d_ fuck Luke.” 

“True,” Calum admits. “Although, for the purposes of my relationship, I wouldn’t fuck Luke.” 

“But hypothetically,” Ashton says. 

“Hypothetically,” Calum agrees. 

“He said he’d fuck me too,” Ashton says. 

“Well, yeah,” Calum says, with an air of _well, duh_. “I’d fuck you.” Ashton wrinkles his nose. 

“Well, don’t,” he says. 

“I wasn’t _planning_ on it,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “So? You’ve got nothing else to do during quarantine, have you? Fuck him.” Ashton chokes on his next breath. 

“I- what? Cal- fuck, no, are you- what?” he splutters, and Calum grins. “I don’t- he’s not- we- I don’t see him like that! It’s hypothetical!” 

“Sure,” Calum says easily. “Hypothetical. Got you.” Ashton hates him. 

“I hate you,” he tells Calum, who just laughs. “Fuck you. I’m _confiding_ in you.” 

“I’m offering you advice,” Calum says. “Fuck him.”

“ _No_ , Cal!” Ashton says. “I don’t _want_ to. I just _would_.” 

“Why not?” Calum says, and before Ashton has time to respond, adds: “And don’t say because you’re friends, because that’s not stopped you before. Or because it’ll fuck up the band, because I’m fucking Michael, so that ship has sailed.” 

“Ew,” Ashton says, scrunching his face. “I don’t want to think about you fucking Michael.”

“So don’t,” Calum says. 

“I can’t help it when you talk about it,” Ashton says, images flashing up in his mind. “Ew. _Ew._ Gross.” He pauses for a second, and then, out of pure curiosity, to make sure his mental image is correct, asks: “Michael tops, right?” Calum bursts out laughing.

“‘Course he does,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I’m a massive sub, Ash.” 

“Okay, _that_ I didn’t need to know,” Ashton says. 

“You already knew it,” Calum says. 

“Yeah, but I hadn’t connected it to _Michael_ ,” Ashton says, shuddering. 

“Don’t be rude about my boyfriend,” Calum says evenly. “And stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding the question,” Ashton protests weakly, because he’s definitely avoiding the question. Calum just raises his eyebrows again, and Ashton sighs. 

“I just don’t see him like that,” Ashton says. “Like. Anyone would want to fuck him. Anyone would want to kiss him. Anyone would want to, like, hold his hand, take him on dates, suck his dick, because it’s fucking Luke, y’know? He’s just-” he breaks off, noticing Calum giving him a strange look. “What?” 

“I don’t want to do that, Ash,” Calum says. 

“Well, I’m not saying I _want_ to, just that I _would_ ,” Ashton reiterates. 

“You know whose hand I wanna hold? Who I wanna kiss, take on dates, all that shit?” Calum says. 

“Who?"

“Michael.” Something twists uncomfortably deep in Ashton’s gut. 

“Yeah, well. You would say that, wouldn’t you?” he says, but Calum’s still got that look on his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, tone unreadable. “Guess I would.” He gives Ashton an odd look, one that makes him feel oddly exposed, but then the moment passes, and he’s grinning again. “Hey, did I tell you about the obstacle course I set up for Duke?” 

\------- 

**_2 weeks, 1 day, 16 hours_ **

“Hey,” Luke says, popping his head around the door to the basement. Ashton’s in between songs, scrolling through his music to find something he thinks he might like to learn. “I’m going shopping. Want anything?” 

“I’ll come with,” Ashton says, putting down his sticks and pulling his headphones off. “I’ve got a whole list.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got the list,” Luke says, waving the piece of paper Ashton keeps next to the microwave. 

“I’ll come anyway,” Ashton says. “I don’t trust you shopping on your own.” Luke frowns. 

“Why not?” he says, more than a little petulant. “I shop for myself in Vegas.” 

“Yeah,” Ashton says pointedly, thinking about Luke’s fridge stocked full with alcohol and ready meals. Luke’s frown deepens. 

“Whatever,” he huffs. “I can shop.” 

“For alcohol,” Ashton says, getting up and starting towards the stairs.

“Yeah, what else do I need?” Luke says breezily, stepping aside for Ashton to pass him. Ashton snorts, and shakes his head. 

“Do I smell?” he asks, knowing he’s been sweating. Luke leans in, close enough that Ashton can smell his cologne and fresh linen and soap. It makes him feel a little dizzy. 

“Nah,” Luke says, straightening up. “Let’s take my car, it’s got more space in the boot.” Ashton nods, pulling on the first shoes he can find (which might be Luke’s, given that they feel slightly too roomy), and following Luke out to his car. 

“You got the list?” he asks, when Luke sits down in the driver’s seat, and Luke lifts his hips to fish the piece of paper out of his pocket. Ashton tries not to let his eyes wander, mind flashing back to _that_ conversation. He clears his throat, as though it’s going to push the thoughts away, and Luke throws him a strange look as he passes Ashton the paper. Ashton chooses to stare steadfastly at the list, pretending he’s totally enraptured in bananas, onions, bleach, lube- wait, _lube_?

“Lube?” Ashton says, before he can stop himself. Luke, pulling out of the driveway, blushes. 

“I didn’t bring any,” he says. “Didn’t know I was gonna be stuck here for three months. And, like. I’m not about to ask you for yours.” 

“What d’you need lube for?” Ashton says, without thinking. Luke bites his lip, blushing an even deeper shade of red, and Ashton realises exactly what the lube is for.

“Are you seriously gonna make me say it?” he asks. Ashton wasn’t going to, not until he’d seen how embarrassed Luke is. 

“Say what?” Ashton asks, feigning innocence. 

“To- for, uh. Wanking.” Luke’s cheeks are single-handedly heating up the entire car. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, conversationally, unable to stop the smug grin that creeps onto his face. “Like, so it’s not dry? Couldn’t you just use spit?” Luke makes a small noise somewhere between a cough and a choke. 

“Ash,” he whines. “You know what.” 

“Do I?” Ashton says, grinning widely. He’s not sure why he wants to push Luke’s buttons like this - he’s pretty sure if Michael had written ‘lube’ on a shopping list he would have just pulled a face and not mentioned it. It’s probably just the amusement of seeing how flustered Luke gets. 

“Oh my God,” Luke mutters. “To finger myself, Ash. Happy?” Something curls low in the pit of Ashton’s stomach hearing Luke - _Luke_ \- say those words. 

“That’s not why you upped the number of cucumbers on the shopping list, is it?” Ashton says, frowning at where _x1_ had been crossed out to say _x3_. Luke splutters. 

“ _No_ , you fucking- I hate you,” Luke says, turning into the car park. “I just- I like cucumbers.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Ashton says, grinning. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but he’s smiling too, and the curl in Ashton’s stomach licks up at him again.

(It takes Ashton all the way through the fifty-minute queue and five minutes into standing in the meat aisle of Walmart to realise what that curl of heat in his stomach was. 

Arousal.) 

\------- 

**_2 weeks, 1 day, 18 hours_ **

“Hey,” Ashton says over his shoulder, as they’re ambling through Target, Luke trailing behind him so they can stick to keeping the sanctioned six feet of distance between themselves and other shoppers. “Should we paint your room?” 

“Huh?” 

“Well, I’ve been wanting to redecorate that room for ages anyway, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.” He turns the shopping trolley into the paint aisle, and rounds on Luke with raised eyebrows, questioning. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Luke says, happily. “That sounds sick.” Ashton grins, and steps around the shopping trolley to the tins of paint. 

“What colour d’you want?” he asks. 

“It’s your house, dude,” Luke says. Ashton’s not sure he likes being called _dude_ by a guy he’d fuck. Hypothetically. 

“Yeah, but I never use that room,” Ashton says, waving his hands dismissively. “You’re literally the only person who does, because everyone else lives in fucking LA.” 

“Are you sure?” Luke says, still a little hesitant. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “As long as you don’t pick, like, bright red. That’s bad for the psyche.” Luke snorts. 

“What the fuck?” he says. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Ashton insists. “I read it somewhere.” 

“Yeah, probably in a book about kale, or something,” Luke mutters, loud enough that Ashton knows he’s meant to hear it, so he chooses to ignore it. 

“I like pale yellow,” Ashton says. “How about that?” Luke wrinkles his nose. He’s got a really fucking cute nose, Ashton notices. 

“It’s gonna look like someone pissed on the walls,” he says. 

“My bedroom’s pale yellow,” Ashton says, affronted. Luke throws him an innocent smile, and Ashton scowls and flips him off. “Fuck you. My room does _not_ look like someone pissed on the walls.” 

“Whatever you say,” Luke says, and Ashton hates him, just a little bit. 

“Alright, fuck, let’s paint my room too,” Ashton says, still scowling. “God, you’re a terrible guest. You can’t just stay in someone’s house and insult it.”

“You should get some more paintings for your living room and hallways,” Luke puts in, as though Ashton hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Sure, let me just access my bottomless bank account,” Ashton says sarcastically, picking up a tin of paint. “How’s pale green?” 

“I was thinking baby blue,” Luke says, another tin in his hands. 

“Well, I like pale green,” Ashton says stubbornly, because Luke can’t get all the wins here. 

“Good thing we’re decorating two rooms, then, isn’t it?” Luke says, amusement glittering in his eyes. Ashton can’t think of a good retort to that, so he just dumps like, seven tins of the paint in the shopping trolley, and Luke does the same with the blue paint. 

“Have we got brushes?” Luke asks. Ashton furrows his brow, trying to remember. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I think I lent them to Cal and Mike when they were redecorating.” Luke nods, picking up a handful of brushes and chucking them in the trolley. 

“Anything else?” Luke says, and Ashton shakes his head. Paint and brushes, that’s all you need to paint a room, right? “Cool. Let’s get out of here. After stopping in the chocolate aisle,” he tacks on as an afterthought. He grabs the trolley and heads off, leaving Ashton to shake his head fondly and follow in his wake. 

\------- 

**_2 weeks, 4 days, 20 hours_ **

It takes another 3 and a half days until they get all the furniture out of Luke’s room, Luke bitching every time he has to pick up anything heavier than a fucking pillow. The room looks odd when it’s empty, their voices reverberating strangely in a very un-homey way.

Ashton digs out some masking tape and tapes up the light switch, the doorframe, the skirting board, the window frame, anything he doesn’t trust Luke to successfully avoid painting over, while Luke places old newspaper across the floorboards. 

“I don’t get why we couldn’t just move everything to the middle of the room,” Luke whines, stepping over the pouffe that had stood in the corner of his room that’s blocking the doorway rather than picking it up and moving it like a rational human being. 

“Move the fucking pouffe,” is how Ashton responds, and he can almost hear Luke rolling his eyes sulkily. He stomps over to the pouffe and places it about two feet away sullenly. “Because you’re literally incapable of not making a mess of anything.” 

“I am not,” Luke protests, walking back over, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it into the paint. He whips around to face the wall, and paint splatters across the wall, floor, and Ashton in the process. “Whoops.” 

“Exactly,” Ashton says pointedly, and Luke flicks more paint at him. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Before the paint dries out.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ashton says, but he dips his own brush in the paint and paints a big streak at eye level. It’s oddly satisfying, actually, the smooth movement of the brush on the wall.

They paint in silence for a while, Ashton working methodically in sections, Luke just painting big fucking streaks here and there with zero regard for whether it’s evenly distributed or not. Whatever, Ashton thinks - he can always go back and fix it later. Plus, it’s Luke who has to live with it, not Ashton. 

(He’s not really sure when this room became ‘Luke’s room’ in his mind, but he finds he’s perfectly fine with it.) 

“We should put some music on,” Luke remarks after a while, and Ashton nods. 

“Speaker’s in my room,” he says. Luke nods, setting down his brush and heading out. Ashton hears a thump and a pained squawk, and figures Luke’s walked right into the pouffe he hadn’t properly moved out of the way.

“I told you to move it!” he calls. 

“Fuck you!” he hears back, muffled by the wall, and grins. Luke walks back into the room a few minutes later, frowning at the phone in his hand, and sets the speaker down by one wall. He fiddles with his phone for a minute then sets it down next to it too, the sound of All Time Low suddenly filling the room. 

“Really?” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows, but he’s grinning. ATL never get old. 

“Well, we’re touring with them soon, aren’t we?” Luke says, shrugging as he picks his paintbrush up again. “Can’t hurt to refresh the memory a bit.”

“Refresh the memory?” Ashton asks. “Luke, you know ATL’s songs better than our own.” 

“Guilty,” Luke says, not sounding guilty at all, and painting a big stripe next to the square Ashton’s currently working on. “Can’t help that they’re better than us.” 

“I don’t know, some of Dirty Work kinda sucks,” Ashton says. Luke makes a noise of outrage. 

“I’m telling Alex you said that,” he says. 

“He agrees with me,” Ashton says.

“He’s just saying that because he thinks you’re cute,” Luke says. 

“He thinks you’re cuter,” Ashton says nonchalantly, dipping his paintbrush back in the tin. 

“He’s wrong,” Luke says immediately. Ashton rolls his eyes but says nothing, not wanting to play into Luke’s insecurities, choosing to fix the uneven bottom of the streak Luke had just painted instead. 

They cycle through a few of Luke’s favourites - ATL, Blink - and then Best Years comes on. Ashton barely even realises until he hears Luke singing softly next to him, completely oblivious as he’s totally focused on painting. It sends something strong coursing through Ashton’s veins - a big fucking rush of _love_ , because Luke’s so fucking talented, and he’s so proud of him, so proud of _them_ , loves Luke and loves seeing him like this, disarmed and candid. 

“I love you,” he blurts, when Luke moves to humming instead of singing. Luke looks at him in surprise. “Fuck, sorry.” He laughs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Bit of a weird thing to just come out with like that. “I’m just. You’re so fucking talented, and I’m so proud of you.” A smile unfurls on Luke’s lips, big and happy. 

“You’re adorable,” he tells Ashton. “I love you too, obviously.” And oh, okay, that’s different. Ashton doesn’t usually get a rush of adrenaline hearing that. 

“Yeah?” he says, kind of wanting to hear it again, a little hooked on the high. 

“Yeah,” Luke echoes, and Ashton finds himself a touch disappointed that he leaves it there. 

“I’m glad you got stuck here for lockdown,” he says, instead of the _please say it again_ that’s on the tip of his tongue. 

“So am I,” Luke says, still smiling widely. “You would’ve gone insane on your own.” Ashton throws him a glare. 

“Arsehole,” he says. “I handle being on my own just fine, thank you very much.” 

“Oh yeah?” Luke says. “What about that time we all went home for Christmas and you stayed here? You were texting me every two minutes asking to call.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton insists. “Christmas is a time to be with people.” 

“Sure,” Luke says, a smile curling around his words. “You just can’t get enough of me.” 

“Right,” Ashton says, sarcastically, while his mind tells him _yeah, he’s right. You kind of can’t._ He’s not quite sure why a little ball of anxiety settles in his abdomen following that thought. “You definitely weren’t third on my call list after Calum and Michael, or anything.” 

“I know I wasn’t,” Luke says smugly, “because firstly, Calum and Michael are always together so if anything, I’d be second on your call list, and secondly, I was with Cal and Michael half the time and my phone rang first.”

“Great,” Ashton says. “All of you hanging out without me. And you wonder why I have trust issues?” 

“You don’t have trust issues.” 

“I do now.” Luke rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. 

They paint quietly for a while longer, listening to Luke’s playlist scroll through - Christ, he still listens to a lot of old emo anthems - until Luke puts down his paintbrush with a dramatic sigh.

“I’m tired,” he complains. “What time is it?” Ashton pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. 

“Ten,” he says, surprised at how fast the time has gone and how little of the walls they’ve actually managed to paint. “Want to move your bed back in here?” Luke pulls a face. 

“I’d rather sleep on it in the bathroom,” he says, because it’s the closest space that could fit the bed that they found, and so naturally, that’s where it is. 

“Well, I might want to shower in the morning,” Ashton says. “Why don’t you just share with me?” 

“You sure?” Luke says. Ashton shrugs. They’ve shared beds so many times before - shared bunks on the bus, even - so how would this be any different? 

“It’s not like we’re not used to it,” he says, which makes him remember something - Luke’s a chronic duvet hogger. “Just bring your own duvet.” 

“I don’t hog,” Luke protests, but he disappears into the bathroom and returns with the duvet in his hands anyway. 

“You better not have picked that up with your paint-covered hands,” Ashton warns, and Luke throws him a sheepish grin. 

“Oops?” he offers. 

“Dickhead,” Ashton mutters. 

\------- 

**_2 weeks, 4 days, 23 hours_ **

Sharing a bed with Luke at home is strangely intimate. 

It takes Ashton until they’ve squabbled over who gets which side, whether they should turn the main light off or not and what time to set the alarm for until he realises that it’s because it’s not sharing _a_ bed, it’s sharing _his_ bed. 

“Your bed is comfy,” Luke remarks, duvet tucket up to his neck. He kind of looks like he’s been beheaded. 

“You look like your head’s been cut off,” Ashton tells him. Luke grins, tucking the blanket in tighter to maximise the effect. “Yeah, I got, like, some special memory foam mattress topper.” 

“I should get one,” Luke muses. 

“When you finally get back to Vegas,” Ashton agrees. 

“God, my house is going to be, like, _so_ dusty,” Luke groans, turning onto his side. Ashton rolls over to face him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I bet you’ve never actually fucking cleaned it, have you?” 

“I’ve hoovered before,” Luke protests. Ashton rolls his eyes, expecting nothing less. 

“You’re disgusting,” he tells Luke, who just grins at him. 

“At least I’ve been picking my towels off the floor,” he says. 

“Oh, right, at least you’ve been doing the _bare fucking minimum_ ,” Ashton says sarcastically. 

“For you,” Luke says pointedly, and something about the earnest look in his eyes sends the words straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“I’m honoured,” Ashton says, trying his best to ignore the way that his heart’s suddenly in his ears. He swallows, as if that’s somehow going to control his heartbeat, and he sees Luke’s eyes follow the line of his throat. It does nothing to help the pounding in his ears. 

“You should be,” Luke says, still gazing at Ashton’s throat, and it comes out as a murmur. His eyes flit back up to Ashton’s eyes, ocean blue meeting hazel. 

It strikes Ashton, all of a sudden, how close they are. His nose is almost touching Luke’s, maybe all of four inches apart, and he realises with a jolt that if he wanted to, it would be all too easy to lean forwards and press his lips to Luke’s. 

To kiss Luke. 

And, worst of all, he wants to.

A wave of panic crashes over him as soon as the thought crosses his mind, and he pulls back sharply, suddenly. Luke frowns, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows, and Ashton wills himself to not find it endearing. 

“I- uh, I’m tired,” Ashton lies, not even convincing himself, trying to ignore the way his palms are sweating and his mouth is going dry. 

“Oh,” Luke says, sounding a little sad, and Ashton’s heart aches. “Well. Night, I guess.” 

“Night,” Ashton says, too quickly, rolling over so his back is to Luke and switching off his side light. After a moment of silence, he hears shuffling on the other side of the bed, and Luke’s light clicks off too, leaving the room in darkness. 

Ashton tries to even out his breathing, tries to make it sound less shaky, but the panic is rising in him, pressing on his chest and settling like a hangover in his stomach. Breathe, he tells himself, trying to slow his racing mind. Breathe. 

What the fuck was that? Ashton doesn’t think about kissing Luke, not like that. In the odd fantasy, sure, sometimes out of pure curiosity, but not like _that_ , not when it’s real and intimate and Luke’s gazing at him with those baby blues, not when it _means_ anything. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, as if it’ll erase the thought from ever having existed in his mind. 

He doesn’t want to kiss Luke. It probably wasn’t about _wanting_ to kiss Luke, it was about the hypothetical _possibility_. The wanting probably just came as an instinctual continuation of that train of thought. And that’s not weird, because it’s a natural jump to make when there’s a hot man that he’d definitely fuck four inches from his face. It’s probably also compounded by the fact that Ashton hasn’t had sex in, like, well over a year at this point. He’s still a fairly young man, after all - hormones definitely still have to be playing a factor here. 

Yeah, he tells himself, breathing a little easier now. It wasn’t about _wanting_ to kiss Luke - it was just that _had_ he wanted to - which he didn’t - he could have. And there are so many mitigating factors that mean it was a perfectly normal thought to have, given the circumstances. 

He rolls onto his back trying to convince himself of that, or, failing that, to clear his mind and think of anything else, and eventually drifts off into an uneasy sleep. 

\------- 

**_2 weeks, 5 days, 12 hours_ **

The problem is, Ashton’s never been able to hide anything from Calum. 

The minute Ashton answers Calum’s FaceTime the next day, Calum leans forwards, a crease between his eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” he asks immediately. 

“Good morning to you too,” Ashton says, trying for light and humorous. 

“What’s wrong?” Calum says, ignoring Ashton’s comment as he adjusts his bucket hat. He’s sat in his garden, as he always seems to be these days, hair lighter every time Ashton sees him. 

“Nothing,” Ashton says, looking around to check that Luke isn’t in the kitchen. He isn’t, but Ashton figures he can’t be too safe, so he takes his iPad and carries it down to the basement. Calum’s silent while Ashton walks, just waiting, until Ashton throws himself down on a beanbag and swallows. He can tell Calum. Calum won’t say anything. 

“I think I might be fucked, Cal,” he says, sounding hopeless even to his own ears. 

“Why?” Calum asks, gentle and calming. Ashton puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. If he says it out loud, it becomes real. If someone else knows about it, it takes on a form that he can’t control, and Ashton doesn’t know if he can handle that. 

“I don’t- I can’t,” he says, helpless. 

“Is it Luke?” Calum asks knowingly. Ashton just nods. “Oh, Ash.” 

“I don’t know why,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t understand. I _don’t_ think of him like that.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself.

“It’s okay,” Calum says soothingly.

“I don’t get it,” Ashton says dully. 

“I kind of figured this would happen,” Calum muses, but he’s not gloating, and it doesn’t make Ashton feel worse. “I mean, you two, cooped up in a house together for three months?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashton says, aiming for affronted, but it comes out wobbly. Calum smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You two are idiots,” is all he offers as a response. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ashton says, and a hysterical laugh bubbles out of him at that, because yeah, _nothing fucking happened_ , and he’s already freaking out. “Nothing. I just-” he takes a deep breath. It’s only Calum, he tells himself. Calum knows. Calum understands. Calum didn’t have an easy time admitting to himself that he liked Michael. “I...I think that maybe, I, uh. Wanted to kiss him.” 

The words hang between the two of them for a moment, and Ashton wishes he could push them back down. 

“Okay,” Calum says, calm and even. 

“Okay?” Ashton says, voice about an octave higher. “Cal, I wanted to _kiss Luke_. Like. We were so close.”

“To kissing?”

“No, just physically,” Ashton says, biting his thumbnail. 

“It’s okay,” Calum says. “It’s okay to want to kiss him.”

“No it’s not,” Ashton says. 

“Alright, why isn’t it okay?” Calum asks. “Let’s break it down.” 

“He’s my friend,” Ashton says. 

“You’ve fucked loads of your friends, Ash,” Calum says, like Ashton knew he would. 

“He’s in the band, though. I don’t want to fuck up the band.” 

“I’m fucking Michael,” Calum says. “We’re in the band.” 

“That’s different,” Ashton says. “You were fucking _before_ the band.” 

“ _You_ didn’t know that, though,” Calum says. “Plus, we nearly broke up when we were twenty-one, and you didn’t notice.” Ashton gapes at him. 

“ _What?_ ” He’s absolutely aghast, all thoughts of kissing Luke suddenly wiped from his mind. “What the fuck? When?” Calum shrugs. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Point is, you and Luke didn’t even know. We’re adults. We can get through shit like that.” Ashton doesn’t want to push, but he just can’t wrap his head around-

“I don’t get it,” he says bluntly. “You and Mike, you’re...you’ve never spent a day apart. How could we not notice you nearly breaking up?” Calum raises his eyebrows. 

“Because, like I said, we’re adults,” he says. “Yeah, it’d suck for a while, but we’d get through it. We can all be mature about these things.” Privately, Ashton’s not sure whether Luke can without Calum and Michael making him fall in line. Calum seems to know what he’s thinking, and adds: “Yeah, Ash, even Luke. He might be a whiny brat, but he’s our whiny brat.” 

“Look,” Ashton says, mind still spinning about the idea of Michael and Calum almost breaking up, and him not even _noticing_. “This is all- this is jumping a lot of steps. I just- I wanted to kiss him, okay? But, like. That doesn’t mean I want to _date_ him.” 

“Don’t you?” Calum asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“No!” Ashton protests. 

“You don’t want to fuck him?”

“Well, I mean, I would, but-”

“You don’t want to kiss him?”

“I just _said_ I did, but-” 

“You don’t want to hold him in public so everyone knows he’s yours? Take him to shows you’ve got absolutely no interest in just to see him happy? Watch shitty movies with him just to see him laugh? Compliment him until he’s smiling like a fucking idiot? Watch him play guitar for hours on end just because he’s so fucking talented, and you love him so much?” 

“ _Alright_ , Cal, I get it, you want to suck Michael’s dick,” Ashton says loudly. “God. You’re a fucking romantic.” Calum laughs, broken up by his terrible internet. 

“I’m just describing things I want to do for him,” he says. “And I can tell you with absolute certainty that I’m in love with that boy.”

“I’m not in love with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Maybe not,” Calum allows, “but you want to date him.” 

“I don’t- I don’t _think_ I do,” Ashton says carefully. 

“That’s already a step closer than two minutes ago,” Calum notes. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says, panic swirling threateningly in his chest again. “I don’t- I don’t want to date Luke. Do I? No. I don’t.” He doesn’t sound sure of himself, though. He doesn’t _feel_ sure of himself, not after listening to Calum, because he knows, deep down, that he wants to do those things for Luke too. 

But that doesn’t mean anything, he thinks immediately. They’re friends. The line is so fine. 

“Fuck,” Ashton says again. “God, Cal, I don’t know. How do I even know if I like him like that? Where’s the fucking line?”

“It’s tough,” Calum says, a crease between his brows. “Believe me, I know.” 

“How did you do it?”

“I thought about it,” Calum says. “For a long, long time. I mean, I was also trying to figure out my sexuality at the time, which probably contributed a lot to that. But I had to sit down and be honest with myself, stop making excuses and finding explanations or ways out - did I want a _relationship_ with Michael, did I just want to _fuck_ Michael, or was I just confused and frustrated and latching onto him?” Ashton bites his lip. 

“Excuses and explanations?” he asks, and his voice sounds kind of small. 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “You know, ‘oh, it’s just because we’re best friends, I’m a teenager with hormones, I’m going through a dry spell’, that kind of stuff.” He’s giving Ashton a look as he says it, as though he knows those are the exact same things Ashton’s been telling himself. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says weakly. He doesn’t need to say anything else. 

“Think about it, Ash,” Calum says gently. “I’m always here if you need to bounce off someone.” 

“Thanks, Cal,” Ashton says, and he means it.”I just- I’m _scared_. It’s _Luke_.” 

“I know,” Calum says, and of course he knows, he knows better than anyone else. “We’ll figure it out. Promise.” 

\------- 

**_3 weeks, 3 days, 17 hours_ **

It takes another four days to get Luke’s room painted, mainly because Luke’s a diva who demands snack breaks every half-hour, and then another day after that to convince him to put the furniture back in the room, because Ashton’s sick of manoeuvring around the bed in the bathroom to shower. Ashton doesn’t have time to think about The Situation because he wakes up next to Luke, spends all day painting with Luke, and then goes to bed with Luke. He barely has time to breathe on his own, to answer Calum and Michael’s texts without Luke seeing what he’s typing, so he pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind and resolves for it to be a problem for Future Ashton. 

“Can we put the bed opposite the window?” Luke asks, when they start moving the furniture back into his room. 

“Sure,” Ashton says. 

“And the wardrobe by the far wall, and the desk next to it,” Luke says. 

“And the pouffe?” Luke considers for a moment. 

“To the right of the window,” he decides. “We should get a mirror, too. A floor length one.” Ashton smirks, not even registering the ‘we’. 

“Need something to wank to?” he asks. Luke throws him a mischievous grin.

“Not in this house,” he says, and then before Ashton has time to process what the fuck that means, he’s carrying on. “I think we should do the wardrobe first, because it’s going in the corner, and the bed last.” Ashton nods, filing Luke’s comment away in his mind alongside the other problems Future Ashton has to deal with, and bends down to pick up his side of the wardrobe. 

It takes them a solid hour to move all the furniture back into the room, largely because Luke’s fussy and wants things to change angles, wants the desk moved about thirty times and directs Ashton around with the pouffe so much that he eventually just drops it next to the window and tells Luke, more than a little irritably, to fucking move it himself. 

“You realise we’re going to have to do all of this again for your room?” Luke says, when Ashton comments that he’s so fucking glad that’s over. Ashton groans, tipping his head back against the freshly painted wall. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to take seventeen years to put the furniture back in my room, because _I’m_ not a fucking prima donna,” he says. 

“I’m _not_ a fucking-” Luke’s cut off by the loud sound of his phone ringing. “Prima donna,” he finishes, swiping on whoever’s calling. “Hey, Mike.” 

“Hey,” Michael says. “Where are you? Aren’t you at Ashton’s?” 

“I am,” Luke says, swivelling his phone around to show Ashton. 

“Hey, Mike,” Ashton says. 

“Hey,” Michael says, frowning and putting his face close to the camera. “Where the fuck is that?”

“Luke’s room,” Ashton says. “We redecorated.” Michael sits back, raising his eyebrows. 

“‘Luke’s room’?” he echoes. “Since when does Luke have a room in your house?” 

“No one else uses this room,” Ashton says. “No one else was stupid enough to move to _Vegas_.”

“Yeah, that was pretty fucking dumb,” Michael says. 

“Alright, fuck you,” Luke says, turning his phone back to face him. “Did you ring me just to bully me, or what?”

“No, but it’s an added bonus,” Michael says. “You guys must be going insane if you’re fucking redecorating.” 

“We’re doing Ashton’s room too,” Luke says. “Pale green.” 

“Nice,” Michael says approvingly. “We’re trying to teach Duke to bark on command.” 

“‘We’?” Ashton says sceptically. 

“Okay, I, and don’t tell Calum. The phrase is ‘best boyfriend’, because I’m sick of Calum referring to himself like that. I’m hoping making Duke bark every time he says it will stop him doing it.” Ashton and Luke both laugh. 

“He’s going to fucking hate you,” Luke says fondly. 

“He already does,” Michael says casually. “What’s new with you guys? Besides auditioning for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.” 

“Nothing, really,” Luke says, with a shrug, casting a glance at Ashton, who shrugs back. “There’s only so much you can do in lockdown.” 

“True,” Michael says. “It’s shit not being able to annoy you every day.” That’s as close as they’re going to get to an _I miss you_ , and they both know it.

“Love you too, Mikey,” Ashton says, at the same time as Luke says, “You’re allowed to express affection towards us, Mike, you know that, right?” 

“Shut up,” Michael says, but Ashton can hear the smile in his voice. “This is why I’m doing my lockdown with Calum, and not you two.”

“You _live_ with Calum,” Luke says. 

“Yeah, and this is why I _don’t_ live with you,” Michael says. “Anyway, I called because I wanted to know if you wanted to play something.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Ash, can I use your desktop?” Ashton shrugs and nods.

“You gonna go on Twitch?” he asks Michael. 

“Might do,” Michael says. “You gonna watch?” 

“Maybe,” Ashton says. 

“You should join,” Luke says. “Get the viewers up.” 

“Fuck, yeah,” Michael says. “C’mon, Ash. We have to get our bills paid.”

“Twitch’ll only get _your_ bills paid,” Ashton points out. 

“That’s already half the band.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ashton says. “I want to play for a bit, first. Haven’t had a chance in almost a week because of painting this room.” 

“How did it take you that long?” Michael wonders, and then immediately answers his own question: “Oh, right, Luke. Fucking diva.”

“I’m _not_ \- hey!” Luke says indignantly. 

“I bet you bitched about carrying the furniture in and out of the room,” Michael says knowingly. 

“It was fucking heavy,” Luke mumbles grumpily, getting off the bed and walking towards the door. “I’m going to log on now. What d’you want to play?” 

“Fortnite’s always a crowd-pleaser,” Michael says as Luke walks out of the room. Ashton follows a few paces behind him, peeling off at the top of the stairs to go down to the basement. 

“Have you told him yet?” he hears Michael say just before Luke slams the door to Ashton’s office shut. He wonders briefly what Luke’s supposed to tell who, before seeing that one of his toms has somehow fallen over and forgetting the train of thought entirely. 

\------- 

**_3 weeks, 3 days, 20 hours_ **

Ashton plays for a good forty-five minutes before he’s got most of his pent-up energy out, and he wanders upstairs to see what Luke’s up to. He can hear yelling from the office, so he assumes he’s still playing with Michael, and heads in to see Luke, headset on, leaning forwards in concentration. 

“Hey,” Ashton says. 

“Ash!” Luke says, pulling the headphones down to his neck and flashing Ashton a winning smile that definitely doesn’t make him slightly weak at the knees. “Hang on.” He reaches over and unplugs the headphones, and the room is suddenly filled with Michael swearing colourfully. 

“Hey, Mike," Ashton says. “Game going well, I see.” 

“It’s your fucking fault,” Michael shouts. “Luke got distracted when you came in, and died.”

“Oops,” Luke says, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Dickhead,” Michael says. Ashton walks over to Luke, hovering at his shoulder. One of the monitors has got Fortnite on it, big and bright, and Ashton can see Michael and a very fast-moving chat on the other one. 

“How the fuck do you read this chat?” Ashton marvels. 

“I don’t,” Michael says. “I can’t read.”

“This is why we need Ashton here,” Luke says. “Only one who finished school.”

“Is Ash gonna play?” Michael asks. 

“No,” Ashton says. “I fucking hate Fortnite, you know that.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Ash,” Michael wheedles. “For the fans. For the views. For getting my bills paid.” 

“I’ve been streaming CALM for like, a week,” Ashton says. “That’s paying your bills.” 

“And yours,” Michael remarks. 

“I need my bills paying,” Ashton says. “I’ve got extra costs right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Michael says. “Luke and Ashton have been sort of social-media-MIA, so you guys probably don’t know that they’re spending lockdown together.” Ashton kind of hates the way Michael made it sound like a choice. 

“Luke got stuck in California,” Ashton says, as an explanation, as he watches the chat somehow start moving even faster. 

“Yeah, and now they’re redecorating Ashton’s house together,” Michael says, and Ashton can see the smirk playing on his lips. It makes a hot flash of annoyance flare up in him - Michael’s doing this on purpose, riling him up, playing into the fans’ hands. 

“Have to find some way to pass the time,” Luke says, and he sounds surprisingly calm. 

“Yeah, how are _you_ spending lockdown, Michael?” Ashton says. 

“Me? I’m doing great,” Michael says. “Training Calum’s dog.” 

“To do what?” Ashton’s pushing it, he knows. Michael and Calum haven’t come out yet, not officially - they haven’t said anything either way, and Ashton knows Calum would rather it stayed that way. He doesn’t like his private life mixing with his public life. 

“To obey commands,” Michael says smoothly. “Tends to be what you train a dog to do.” Ashton wishes Michael had never had PR training. 

“I’m going to tell Calum to train Duke to bite you,” he says darkly, because he can’t say _you’re an arsehole_ without confusing everybody and probably causing some insane conspiracy theories about how the band’s about to break up to pop up online. 

“My ankles are terrified,” Michael deadpans. 

“Play with us,” Luke says to Ashton, gazing up at him pleadingly. Ashton swallows. Saying no to Luke’s puppy dog eyes has always been a challenge, even when he didn’t want to kiss him. 

“I don’t have anywhere to sit,” he says weakly. 

“Luke’s lap is right there,” Michael puts in. Ashton’s going to scream at him on FaceTime the moment this stream is over. 

“I’m too heavy,” Ashton says. 

“You sit on my lap all the time,” Michael says. 

“You’re sturdier than Luke.” 

“Hey,” Luke and Michael say at the same time, both affronted. Luckily, as though God’s sensing Ashton’s distress and is sending him a lifeboat, Ashton’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see it’s Lauren calling. 

“Lauren’s calling,” he says, already halfway to the door. “I’ll speak to you later.” 

“Say hi from me,” Luke says. 

“And me,” Michael says. “Bye, Ash.” 

“Bye, guys!” Ashton calls, to whoever the fuck is on the stream (he doesn’t understand Twitch _at all_ ), and heads to his bedroom to take Lauren’s call, resolving to pay for her prom dress, or something. 

\------- 

**_3 weeks, 3 days, 22 hours_ **

Ashton’s phone buzzes continually through the movie he’s watching with Luke, Michael trying to FaceTime him at least six times until Ashton just turns his phone onto airplane mode and settles back to watch the rest of the film. He catches Luke frowning at him in his peripheral vision, but by the time he’s turned to look at him Luke’s eyes are focused on the screen again, and Ashton shrugs it off. 

He turns his phone back on again when Luke says he’s going to get ready for bed, and he has even more missed calls from Michael and some from Calum (which is probably Michael knowing Ashton’s ignoring him). 

**_Michael US New_ ** **_  
_ ** _can we talk?_

 **_Michael US New_ ** _  
_ _i’m sorry if i took it too far on twitch_

 **_Michael US New_ ** _  
_ _i didn’t know it was a big deal_

 **_Michael US New_ ** _  
_ _ash come on don’t be childish_

 ** _Michael US New_** _  
__call me back when you can_

 **_Michael US New_ ** _  
_ _love you_

Ashton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, because he really can’t be fucked to have this conversation now, but he knows it’s childish to keep ignoring Michael for something so small and he doesn’t have an excuse to anymore, now that the film’s done. He swipes on one of Michael’s missed FaceTimes, and Michael picks up after three rings. 

“Are you done ignoring me now?” he asks evenly, and Ashton feels guilt starting to creep into his annoyance. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. It was childish. He almost adds _I was watching a movie with Luke_ , but stops himself, because that’s just an excuse, and Michael would know it. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael says sincerely. “I didn’t know it would upset you that much. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.” Ashton thinks that’s probably only half-true, because Michael loves pushing people’s buttons, pushing them too far, and doesn’t have a clear definition of boundaries because Calum’s so fucking zen that Michael can pretty much push him to the very edge before he tells him it’s enough. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, because it is - it’s not _Michael’s_ fault, technically. It’s just Ashton overreacting to their usual banter. 

“Why’s it a big deal, though?” Michael says. “You’ve never cared before.” Ashton swallows, tugging on one of his curls. 

“Have you talked to Calum?” he asks. 

“Well, yes, we live in the same house,” Michael says. 

“I mean. About.” He swallows again. “This.” Michael frowns. 

“No,” he says. “If Calum doesn’t think I need to know, he doesn’t tell me. And that’s okay.” Ashton’s suddenly filled with a rush of love and affection for both Michael and Calum - Calum, for not telling Michael, his best friend, his boyfriend, his everything, what Ashton had told him, and Michael for being okay with Calum and Ashton, two of his best friends, keeping secrets from him. 

“Okay,” Ashton says. “I, uh. I don’t think I’m ready to tell you yet.” 

“Okay,” Michael says with a shrug, and it’s that easy. “But you know I’m here if you need me.” The guilt washes away the rest of the annoyance, and Ashton suddenly feels a bit sick. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says, hoping Michael understands what he’s apologising for. “I- fuck. I love you, Mikey.”

“Love you too,” Michael says, smiling fondly, and it’s a real, genuine smile, one that makes his eyes light up. It makes Ashton kind of see why Calum’s willing to go to the ends of the earth for Michael. 

“I miss you,” Ashton says. 

“I’m not surprised,” Michael says breezily, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “I miss you too, Ash. It’s not the same without you here.” 

“I know,” Ashton says, sighing heavily. “We should have just, like, all gone to yours, or you guys come here, or something.” 

“You want to hear three months’ worth of me and Cal’s sex life?” Michael asks, a smile tugging at his lips. Ashton pulls a face. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m being cute here. Why’ve you got sex on the brain all the time?” 

“You would too if you were dating Calum,” Michael says. Ashton hears something on Michael’s end of the line that sounds suspiciously like _Michael, baby, how long are you going to leave me tied up here?_

“What the fuck?” Ashton demands. “Did you call me halfway through having sex with Calum?” 

“Not _quite_ halfway through,” Michael corrects, a mischievous grin on his face. “And technically, you called me.”

“You’re disgusting,” Ashton tells him. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Probably for the best,” Michael agrees. “I’ve, uh, got places to be. Love you, Ash.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton says grudgingly, because he does, despite himself, and ends the call, trying his best not to think about what’s just happened, or what’s currently happening in the Hood-Clifford household. 

Gross. 

\------- 

**_3 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour_ **

It’s 1 a.m. when Luke knocks at his door. 

“Hey,” he says, peeking around the door. “Are you asleep?” 

“Yes,” Ashton says, just to be difficult. 

“Shut up,” Luke says automatically, shuffling into the room. He’s wrapped in his duvet, and looks incredibly...well, _soft_ is the only word Ashton can think of. 

“What?” Ashton asks, rolling onto his back letting his forearm rest on his forehead. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

“And that’s my problem because…?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Can I sleep here?” Ashton blinks. “I mean. It feels weird sleeping without you, now. But it’s okay if you want to sleep alone. Obviously.” A warm feeling floods Ashton’s stomach, and he tries to will it away.

“If you want,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. Luke’s face splits into a grin, and he shuffles towards the bed, flopping down on it when Ashton shifts up to make room.

“I even brought my own duvet,” Luke says, blinking at Ashton earnestly. Ashton’s treacherous mind flashes an image of him leaning down and pressing his lips to Luke’s softly in front of his eyes. 

“You did,” is all he can manage in response, trying to quash the fear rising in his chest. 

“Hey,” Luke says, eyes fluttering shut, and now that Ashton’s close he can see how sleepy Luke looks. “Stop thinking so much.” 

“I’m not,” Ashton lies, swallowing hard. 

“You are,” Luke says serenely. The dim light of the moon and light pollution is falling on Luke’s hair through a crack in the curtains, illuminating his soft blonde curls. Ashton thinks he looks a little bit like an angel. “Stop it. Go to sleep.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, hoping the edge of hysteria is only audible to him. 

“It’s not that easy, golden boy,” he says, aiming for sarcastic. A small smile finds its way onto Luke’s lips. 

“Golden boy,” he echoes. “I like it when you call me that.” 

“Go to sleep,” Ashton says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. 

“Golden boy,” Luke says again, smile audible, and he rolls onto his other side. 

Great. Well. Ashton’s not going to sleep tonight. 

\------- 

**_4 weeks, 13 hours_ **

“Mike and Cal want to FaceTime tonight,” Luke says over lunch. “Apparently Michael’s really missing us. Calum suggested watching a movie together, or something.” It reminds Ashton of the conversation he’d had with Calum last week, which, in the midst of his badly-repressed romantic crisis, he’d somehow completely forgotten to tell Luke about. 

“You know Calum told me they almost broke up three years ago?” he says. Luke gapes at him. 

“What?” he says, mouth open in shock. Ashton nods as he brings another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “ _Mike and Cal_?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, when he’s finished chewing. “Did you know?” 

“ _No_ ,” Luke says emphatically, now looking somewhere between confused and shocked. “What the fuck?” 

“I know,” Ashton agrees. 

“Why? When? What the fuck? What happened?”

“I don't know, he didn’t say,” Ashton says. “I was just so surprised that I never noticed.” 

“Well, I didn’t either,” Luke says. “Does that make us terrible friends?”

“Probably,” Ashton says. “Or it makes them good liars.” 

“They _are_ good liars,” Luke muses. “God, I’m- I don’t even know what to think. What the _fuck_? Cal and Michael?” 

“I _know_ ,” Ashton says fervently, taking a sip of his juice. 

“How did that even come up?” Luke asks. Ashton shrugs. 

“Can’t remember,” he lies. Luke looks at him for a moment, and Ashton knows that look - it’s the _should I, shouldn’t I_ look that Luke gets when he wants to say something but isn’t quite sure how to say it. 

“D’you think it would have fucked up the band?” he asks eventually, and his tone sounds a little too casual. Ashton shrugs, staring down at his pasta rather than meeting Luke’s eyes. “Like. Two people in the band dating, and then breaking up.” Ashton swallows, and reminds himself that Luke doesn’t mean what Ashton wants him to mean. 

“I don’t know,” he says, and then, feeling a spurt of courage: “Do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke echoes. “I hope not.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ashton says, because there’s no way Michael and Calum are breaking up now, and they’re the only two people in the band dating. 

“I guess it doesn’t,” Luke says, frowning down at his plate and stabbing at his pasta a little moodily. 

Ashton chalks it up to Luke being the last to find out about Michael and Calum, because he doesn’t like to be left out. He doesn’t really think it warrants that kind of a response, but Luke likes to overreact, so he lets him stew and finishes his pasta. 

\------- 

**_4 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours_ **

Ashton’s not sure why it’s been over a month since he last picked up a guitar. 

He’s been drumming, laying down some raw beats that he likes the sound of, and he’s even been fiddling around on his piano in the basement, but the first time he thinks about guitar is when he goes upstairs for some water after a particularly hard drumming session and hears Luke strumming and singing, muffled by closed doors. It’s soft, a little tentative, which is usually the mark of Luke writing. 

Ashton knocks on the door and Luke stops abruptly. 

“Yeah?” he says. Ashton cracks the door open and peers around. Luke’s sat cross-legged on the sofa, blonde curls falling in his face, Ashton’s second-favourite guitar in his lap. 

“You writing?” Ashton asks. Luke nods. 

“I’ve been writing for a few weeks,” he says. “When you drum.” Something about that sends a stab of hurt straight to Ashton’s heart. 

“D’you not want me to hear?” Ashton says, trying for nonchalant, but he hears the accusatory note in his own voice. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortable. 

“I usually write the first bits alone,” he says. “Don’t usually show you guys until I have a little more of an idea where it’s going.” Ashton nods, swallowing away the bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Makes sense,” he says, because it does, even if he doesn’t like it. “Well. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to listen to, yeah?” Luke nods, and Ashton knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“You should use the Martin,” he adds, as he makes to leave; an olive branch. 

“I left that one for you,” Luke says. “In case you wanted to play. I know it’s your favourite.” 

Ashton thinks he might die. He’s never wanted to kiss anybody this much in his life, he’s pretty sure. 

“Oh,” he manages to get out. “That’s. Really thoughtful.” Luke shrugs, looking somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. “You can use it, though. I’m- uh. Going back downstairs.” Ashton turns on his heel and walks out, not throwing a backwards glance at Luke in case he does something fucking stupid like stride back over and kiss him. 

When he gets back to the basement, he picks up his phone and sends a text to Calum. 

**_Me_ ** _  
_ _I’m fucked_

Calum’s typing bubble appears immediately.

**_Calum US_ **  
_You want to talk about it?_

Ashton squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about it, just wants to fill his head with drums and make his muscles ache and tire himself out so he can just go straight to bed later, fall asleep and not have to dwell on any of this. 

**_Me_ ** _  
_ _No_

 **_Calum US_ ** _  
_ _Do you think you SHOULD talk about it?_

Ashton hates him. 

**_Me_ ** _  
_ _Yes_

 **_Calum US_ ** _  
_ _Okay_

 **_Calum US_ ** _  
_ _You know where to find me when you’re ready_

Ashton does, and he thinks it’s probably the only reason he hasn’t collapsed into a panicking mess on the floor. 

**_Me_ ** _  
_ _Love you_

He sets his phone down, picks up his headphones, and loses himself in the music, letting the pain in his muscles drown out the panic in his mind. 

\------- 

**_4 weeks, 4 days, 18 hours_ **

In the end, it’s only three and a half hours until Ashton caves and rings Calum, who picks up after two rings. 

“Drummed yourself out?” Calum asks, even though Ashton’s not even sat at his kit. Ashton hates how well Calum knows him. 

“Fuck you,” he says. 

“What happened?” Ashton sighs. 

“He didn’t use my Martin,” he says helplessly. There’s a beat, and then-

“Sorry, I think your wifi’s cutting out,” Calum says. “All I heard was he didn’t use your Martin.”

“That’s all I said,” Ashton says. 

“Right,” Calum says slowly. “So. Let me get this straight. Luke _didn’t_ use your favourite guitar, and...that made you want to fuck him?”

“Kiss him,” Ashton corrects. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, sorry, forgot we had to keep it PG,” he says. 

“He was writing,” Ashton says, electing to be the bigger person and ignore that comment, “and he used my Strat because he thought I might want to play and he knows the Martin is my favourite, so. He left it for me.” 

“That is kinda cute,” Calum admits. 

“I _know_ ,” Ashton moans. 

“Have you thought about it?” Calum asks. Ashton shakes his head. “C’mon, Ash. All you ever fucking do is think. Why not?” 

“Because he’s _here_ ,” Ashton says. “And- and what if I _do_ like him? Or what if I think myself into liking him? What am I supposed to do then?” 

“That’s step two,” Calum says gently. “Step one is just figuring it out for yourself. Don’t overcomplicate it.” 

“I don’t _want_ to figure it out,” Ashton says sullenly. 

“I know,” Calum says. “But that’s kind of why you have to. It’s not going away by not thinking about it, is it?” Ashton hates it when he’s right. 

“You know, I’m older than you,” he says moodily. “I know better than you.” Calum laughs. 

“Which is why you came to me for advice,” he says. 

“Fuck you,” Ashton says again, and Calum grins. 

“I-” he cuts himself off, looking up and over the camera. “What?” There’s the sound of someone shouting at him. “Can it wait a second? I’m on FaceTime.” There’s another pause. “With Ashton.” 

“Don’t mind me,” Ashton grumbles. Calum looks down at him again. 

“Sorry, it’s Mike,” he says, as if it would be anyone else. “Wants me to come in for dinner.” 

“You can go,” Ashton says. 

“Nah, he’s just being a bitch,” Calum says. “Cooked a fucking casserole, like he wasn’t the whitest person alive already.” He looks over the camera again. “I’ll be five minutes, Michael, it’s not going to go cold!” 

Ashton can make out the sound of Michael yelling: “It’s already going fucking cold!” 

“You’re so fucking melodramatic,” Calum calls back. 

“Fine, fuck you,” Michael shouts, and his voice is getting closer. “I’m going to date someone who appreciates my cooking.” Calum rolls his eyes, and then Michael’s coming into the frame, throwing himself down on the outdoor sofa next to Calum. 

“You’re making my casserole go cold,” he says accusingly, looking at Ashton. 

“It’s not going to go cold in five minutes,” Ashton tells him. Michael scowls, and Calum slips an arm around his waist, mindless and easy. Michael leans into Calum’s touch, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. 

“Exactly,” Calum says, pressing a kiss to the top of Michael’s head, because physical touch from Calum is always a guaranteed way to bring Michael out of a strop. Michael huffs, but wraps an arm around Calum.

“I’m never cooking for you again,” he declares, but they all know that’s a lie. 

“Ashton will send me food,” Calum says, fingers threading through Michael’s hair. “Won’t you, Ash?”

“No,” Ashton says. “I’ve got my hands full trying to force Luke to do something more than make toast.” 

“See?” Michael says, looking up at Calum. “Be thankful you’re not living with Luke.” Calum rolls his eyes back, but he’s smiling fondly. 

Something about their interactions makes Ashton feel kind of empty. He sees Michael and Calum like this all the time, every day, but it feels like it’s the first time he’s actually _seeing_ their interactions - the absent-minded touches, the fond looks - and it makes him ache a little. He wants that. He wants someone to look at him with that kind of affection, to touch him like that without even thinking about it, to share that kind of intimacy and _love_ with. 

He tries his best not to let his mind wander to fantasies of having Luke’s arms wrapped around him whilst he’s cooking dinner, Luke curled up in his lap whilst a movie plays on the TV, Luke pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before they fall asleep, but the thoughts are so loud and pervasive, making Ashton squeeze his eyes shut as if it’ll wipe his mind clean. 

“I should go,” Ashton says, a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden. “I’m not sure I want Luke to be in the kitchen on his own.”

“Fucking hell, you’re not actually letting him _cook_ , are you?” Michael says, sounding a little alarmed. “He told me he was helping, but I assumed that meant, like, laying the table, or something.” 

“I’m not his fucking mum,” Ashton grumbles. “Plus, he hasn’t burnt the house down, yet.” 

“Yet,” Calum says pointedly. 

“If he does, let me know, so I can bring my _ice cold_ casserole over and heat it up again,” Michael says, throwing daggers at Calum. Calum just rolls his eyes again. 

“Alright, fucking hell,” he says. “Text me, Ash?” Ashton nods, finger already hovering above the ‘end call’ button. 

“Text me too,” Michael says. 

“No,” Ashton says. “You’ll just send me stupid memes that make no sense.” 

“Y’know, the fans have a point when they call you a boomer,” Calum says. Ashton scowls. 

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Good,” Michael says. 

“Fuck you too,” Ashton says.  
  
“Speak to you soon,” Calum says, pointedly, raising his eyebrows. Ashton doesn’t like what he’s implying.

“Fuck you, again,” Ashton says, and hangs up.

Fucking hell. 

\------- 

**_4 weeks, 6 days, 21 hours_ **

The floodgates finally open two days later, despite Ashton’s best attempts to keep everything sealed away tightly in boxes in his mind labelled ‘Don’t Think About This’ and ‘You’re Just Going Through A Dry Spell’. 

They’re sat on the same sofa watching Harry Potter, because they’re sharing a bowl of popcorn and Ashton got sick of getting up every thirty seconds to grab another handful and just threw himself down next to Luke. 

“This is my favourite one,” Luke says off-handedly, when Harry goes into Diagon Alley for the first time. “Like, it’s so happy.” 

“There’s literally an attempt on his life at the end,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it’s happier than the others,” Luke says defensively, reaching for another handful of popcorn. 

“That’s not really a high bar,” Ashton points out. 

“Alright, what’s _your_ favourite then?” Luke asks, watching Harry and Hagrid in Gringotts. 

“The last one,” Ashton says. 

“That’s the _saddest_ ,” Luke says. 

“No, they win the war.” 

“ _Ye_ _ah_ , but, like, hundreds of people die.” 

“Alright, it’s bittersweet,” Ashton allows. Luke rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the popcorn in his hand into his mouth. Ashton should probably find it disgusting, but he doesn’t. 

They watch in silence for a while longer, Luke totally enraptured in the film, despite the fact they’ve seen it about forty times on Michael’s movie nights. It’s not until Harry’s in the Forbidden Forest in detention that Luke’s hand snatches out and grabs Ashton’s tightly. Ashton looks down, and then up at Luke’s face, hoping the surprise will outweigh the tension in his expression. 

“Don’t like this bit,” is all Luke offers as an explanation, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“Well, stop watching, then,” Ashton suggests. 

“I have to watch,” Luke says. Ashton doesn’t think that makes any sense. 

“It’s not like you don’t know what happens,” Ashton says, and Luke’s grip on Ashton’s hand tightens as Harry stumbles across the hooded figure drinking from the unicorn. It kind of fucking hurts, so, just trying to get rid of the pain, Ashton turns his hand around so his palm is facing Luke’s, meaning their fingers tangle together loosely. Luke slots his fingers in between Ashton’s with purpose, making the hair on Ashton’s arms stand on end, but when he chances a look at Luke, he’s still focused on the film. 

Harry gets away, as he obviously always does, but Luke’s fingers don’t move out of Ashton’s. Ashton tries not to think about what that might mean, but his mind is in overdrive for the remainder of the film. Luke’s probably just forgotten, he tells himself, as he stares through the TV, not taking in any of the movie. He’s so enraptured in the film, he’s probably just not realised his fingers are still linked to Ashton’s. 

That theory, however, is out of the window when Harry approaches Professor Quirrell in front of the Mirror of Erised. 

“Why the fuck would you walk towards him?” Luke says, lifting their joined hands to indicate to the screen. 

“He’s a Gryffindor,” Ashton says, proud of how steady he’s able to keep his voice despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Worst house to be in,” Luke says decisively. “No sense of self-preservation. No wonder Harry keeps having near-death experiences.” 

“Yeah, well,” is all Ashton can muster weakly in response, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Luke’s already making a noise of frustration as Harry gets all the way up to Quirrell. 

Ashton swallows, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, and wills himself not to think about the sensation of Luke’s hand, warm and slightly calloused in his own. 

“I love that movie,” Luke says passionately, when the credits start rolling, forcing Ashton back into reality. Luke’s got a happy little smile on his face, eyes lit up, and Ashton, thoughts having been on Luke for the past forty-five minutes, really, _really_ wants to kiss him. 

So, instinctively, he does. 

He leans forwards, not thinking about what he’s doing, and cups Luke’s jaw with his free hand, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his lips to Luke’s. They’re soft, _so_ fucking soft, and he can feel one of Luke’s curls brushing against the hollow of his eye, and he’s just so fucking overwhelmed with _Luke_ , the feeling of Luke against him, the scent of Luke around him, the warmth emanating from his body, Luke, Luke, _Luke_. 

It’s a split second, but it feels like forever, the spell only broken when Luke makes a little noise - surprise? Distress? - and tilts his head, giving Ashton a better angle, and fucking kisses _back_. 

Ashton springs back, realisation hitting him like a sickening, ice-cold wave. 

He’s fucking _kissing Luke_. 

“Uh,” he says intelligently, taking in Luke’s red, spit-slicked lips, his wide, blue eyes, his dumbfounded expression. “I. Fuck.” Ashton jumps up, balling his hands into fists at his side, and stalks out of the room and into the basement. He got up too fast and his vision is swimming, but he pushes through it, figuring if he faints and falls down the basement stairs and dies - well, at least he won’t have to deal with the aftermath of what he’s just done. 

He sits down on one of the beanbags opposite his drum kit, the light of the basement suddenly too bright and making his head hurt, heart pounding in his ears, palms sweating, mouth dry. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, can’t even keep up with all the thoughts in his mind, and takes deeps breaths, exhaling and inhaling shakily. Breathe, he tells himself. Just fucking breathe. 

With fumbling hands, he slides his phone out of his pocket and dials Calum, who doesn’t pick up at first. 

“Fuck, c’mon,” Ashton mumbles, dialling again. Still nothing. Fuck. This is some sort of cosmic joke. What the fuck is he doing, anyway - he’s in fucking lockdown, it’s not like he’s busy. 

Ashton dials a third time, and this time, thankfully, Calum picks up. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, crease between his eyebrows, as he walks swiftly out of his living room and into the kitchen. 

“No,” Ashton says. 

“What happened?” Calum asks soothingly. Ashton reminds himself, again, to breathe. 

“I kissed Luke.” Calum blinks. 

“You- you kissed him?” Ashton nods, swallowing hard. “Okay. Breathe, Ash. Breathe.”

“‘M breathing,” Ashton says, but he does it anyway - in for seven, out for eleven. 

“Okay,” Calum says calmly. “D’you want to tell me what happened, or?” Ashton shakes his head. “Okay,” Calum says again. “D’you want me to talk?” Ashton nods. “Alright. Mikey and I are doing some garden-scaping, can you believe? I cut a fucking hedge today. I’ve never done anything that domestic in my _life_. We made a veggie lasagne for dinner - or, well, _I_ made a veggie lasagne for dinner, and I made Michael a normal one, and Michael bitched about it not tasting the same because he thought I’d just made a veggie one for the both of us. He’s still sulking about that, actually.” Ashton huffs out a laugh at that, heartbeat slowing a little. That sounds like Michael. “I’ve been writing a bit, but nothing major. I’m using this as a bit of a break, trying to clear my mind, get myself back in a headspace I’m happy with. Michael seems to think ‘lockdown’ is synonymous to ‘play as many videogames during your waking hours as possible’, though. That’s why I made him start on the garden-scaping, actually. It’s the only way I can get him out of the house, and he’s starting to glow in the dark.” Calum pauses, and Ashton exhales again, far less shaky. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

“Always,” Calum says sincerely. “So? What happened.” 

“I don’t know,” Ashton says. “I- we were watching Harry Potter, and then he got scared, and held my hand, and then- he didn’t let go, and. I kissed him.” 

“Right,” Calum says. “Look, I know this is, like, emotionally distressing for you, and all, but who the fuck gets scared of _Harry Potter_?” Ashton laughs, a little hysterical. 

“I know,” he says emphatically. 

“So, he didn’t let go of your hand?” Calum says. Ashton nods miserably. 

“And he definitely didn’t forget he was holding my hand,” he adds. “He used our hands to point at the TV.” 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, with a sigh, closing his eyes. “You- you’re, like, new levels of stupid.” 

“I _know,_ ” Ashton says, because he knows he’s a fucking idiot for kissing Luke - he doesn’t need reminding. “I didn’t _mean_ to kiss him.” 

“And? Did he- what did he do?” 

“He- I don’t- I mean, it _seemed_ like...he kissed back?” Ashton says uncertainly. Calum pinches the bridge of his nose, and inhales deeply. 

“So why is this a problem?” Ashton gapes at him. 

“Are you even listening to me?” he demands. “I _kissed Luke_.” 

“Well, you said he kissed back,” Calum says. 

“I don’t _know_ if he did,” Ashton says, distressed. “It just _seemed_ like it.” 

“You- fucking hell. Ashton, will you listen to yourself? You kissed Luke, and he kissed b-” Ashton makes a noise of protest “-okay, _probably_ kissed back.” 

“It’s just, like, what you do when someone kisses you, though,” Ashton says. “Like. It’s polite.” Calum puts his head in his hands. 

“You think Luke kissed you to be _polite_?” 

“Okay, not- fuck, not _polite_ , but, like, on automatic pilot,” Ashton says hurriedly. 

“Fucking hell, Ash. This conversation has shaved a solid five years off my life,” Calum tells him. “And? How did you leave it?” 

“I, uh.” He knows Calum’s not going to like his answer. “Ran out?” 

“ _Ran out_?” Ashton blinks sheepishly. “Christ. Make that ten years.” 

“It’s not funny,” Ashton protests, even though neither of them are laughing. 

“I know,” Calum says, voice softening again. “You should talk to him.” Ashton shakes his head. “Ash, you’ve just kissed the guy. The least you can do is talk about it.” 

“No,” Ashton says immediately, even though he knows he should. “I’m stuck in a house with him, Cal. It’ll be so fucking awkward.” 

“So, what, your grand plan is to just...avoid him? Move into the basement?” Ashton nods miserably. “That’s fucking stupid, and you know it. That’s going to make you both miserable.” 

“It can’t be any worse,” Ashton says, picking at a loose thread on his jumper. Calum frowns. 

“Look, I’m not going to intervene,” he says, “yet. But you have to talk to him.” 

“What do you mean, yet?” Ashton says, a shade indignantly. 

“Well, it’s my fucking band too, isn’t it?” 

“Nothing’s happened!” Ashton says. “The band’s fine!” Calum shoots him a look. 

“Talk to him,” he says. Ashton’s shoulders slump. “Hey. You’re alright, Ash. I’ve got you.” 

“I know,” Ashton says. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Calum says. “Go and get your boy.” 

“He’s _not_ my boy,” Ashton says, but Calum’s already hung up. “Fuck you,” he says to his contact list, before pocketing his phone again and standing up, taking a deep breath to steel himself. 

It’s just Luke, he tells himself as he walks back up the stairs. He talks to Luke all the time. This isn’t going to be any different. 

Luke’s not in the living room where Ashton left him, and Ashton has a brief moment of panic as he takes the stairs two at a time, thinking Luke might have left the fucking house _in_ _lockdown_ , but he finds Luke in Ashton’s room, pillow and duvet in hand. He looks like a deer in headlights when he sees Ashton in the doorway. 

“What are you doing?” Ashton blurts, cursing inwardly as soon as the words have left his mouth, because that’s not what he came here to say. 

“I, uh. I think. I should probably sleep in my room,” Luke says, biting his lip. Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

Fuck. Ashton’s fucked things up. 

“You don’t have to,” he tries. 

“I should,” Luke mumbles. Ashton feels sick. 

“Okay,” he says. Luke breaks the gaze first, busying himself with gathering all his belongings, which are strewn across the room by now - phone charger next to Ashton’s, book he’d been reading on the bedside table, pyjamas crumpled on the floor like they always are - and walks over to the door. Ashton, not quite processing what’s going on, takes a second to move aside, and it’s the most uncomfortable second of his life. 

“Night, then,” Luke says, awkwardly. 

“Night,” Ashton echoes, and he can do nothing but watch helplessly as Luke trails into his room and shuts the door behind him. 

Fuck. 

\------- 

**_5 weeks, 8 hours_ **

Ashton, predictably, doesn’t sleep a fucking wink. 

He drags himself out of bed at eight a.m., figuring he’s just fucked on the sleep front, and tiptoes to the shower, ears straining in case Luke’s already awake. He hears Luke’s door open at quarter past over the sound of the rushing water - boiling hot, but Ashton can’t even feel it on his skin - and stands under the stream until his skin is wrinkled, waiting to hear it shut again. It does at half past, and Ashton gets out, towels himself off quickly, and all but runs back to his room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he can. 

He’s not hungry enough for breakfast, the conversation of last night still weighing down on his stomach, and when lunchtime rolls around, he finds he’s not hungry enough for that either. He spends the whole morning replying to emails he’s been ignoring, forcing himself to find something that takes so much of his concentration that he can’t think about Luke, and has actually caught up on all of his admin stuff by three p.m.. That, however, leaves him with only two choices - risk going downstairs to the basement, or stay in his room indefinitely and hope the lockdown ends before he starves to death. 

Ashton’s dithering is interrupted by a buzzing on his bedside table, and he looks over to see Calum calling him. He lets it ring out, because the second-last thing he wants to do right now (after ‘talk to Luke’) is relive last night. 

Calum, though, is persistent, and despite Ashton turning his phone over so he won’t see it light up, it keeps buzzing, eventually irritating him so much that he just picks up. 

“What,” he snaps. Calum arches an eyebrow. 

“Afternoon to you too,” he says. 

“What,” Ashton repeats, no kinder than before. 

“What happened?” 

“He hates me,” Ashton says flatly. “So.” 

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Calum says. 

“He told me he should sleep in his room again. And I said he didn’t have to, and he said he did. So.” Ashton shrugs, as if it’ll dull the searing hurt that’s seeping into every pore of his body. 

“Oh, Ash,” Calum says, and he sounds genuinely sorry. 

“Don’t,” Ashton says dully. “I don’t want to hear it.” Calum nods, biting his lip. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. Ashton shrugs again. 

“Surgically remove my emotions?” 

“So you _do_ like him?” Ashton huffs out a humourless laugh. 

“I think we’re a bit beyond that debate, Cal,” he says. Calum’s expression softens. 

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. 

“It’s okay,” Ashton says. “It is what it is.” 

“D’you want to go?” Calum asks. Ashton nods. Talking is just tiring him out. “Okay. But- don’t shut yourself away, okay? You’ve got me, and Mikey. We love you.” 

“Love you too,” Ashton mumbles listlessly. Calum hesitates, like he’s going to say something else, but then just sighs. 

“I really do love you,” he says. 

“You too,” Ashton says. Calum sends him another sad smile, and then Ashton’s staring at his lock screen. Somehow, even though he’d wanted Calum to go, he feels even more lonely now, his bedroom feeling even more empty. He doesn’t want to call Calum back, though, because he knows it’ll just be more sad smiles and worried sighs, and he’s got nothing else to do in his bedroom that’ll take his mind off Luke so he braces himself and gets out of bed to go to the basement. 

His heart is pounding as he jogs downstairs, not relenting until he’s slammed the basement door shut behind him a little louder than he’d wanted to and made his way over to his kit. He pulls his headphones over his head, puts his music on shuffle and then skips at least fifteen songs until he finds one he actually knows on drums, and starts playing. 

He forces himself to put his all into playing, so focused on getting the fills _just_ right that he doesn’t have time to think about Luke, switching songs to something harder anytime he catches his mind wandering, keeping himself occupied. He’s exhausted by the time he looks at his phone and sees it’s eight p.m., running on zero sleep and zero food, and he’s got a headache from not drinking enough water. He is pretty fucking thirsty, especially after playing for hours, so he pads up the stairs and stands by the door to the basement for a moment, listening for any sounds from the kitchen. He doesn’t hear anything, luckily, so he chances it and slips out hesitantly, speed-walking over to the sink and grabbing a glass. 

He gulps down three glasses of water and is just filling up the fourth when he hears a sound behind him and whips around in shock. 

“Uh,” Luke says, looking around the room wildly. He looks a mess, Ashton notes. “I, um. Making dinner.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. “Sorry. Uh, I was getting water.” He holds up the glass, as if it’ll end the sheer fucking awkwardness of this interaction. “Sorry. I’m- um. Going back upstairs.” Luke just nods, biting his lip, and stands aside for Ashton to walk past. Ashton catches a brief, faint imprint of Luke as he passes him, slightly stale cologne and soap, and it makes his heart ache. 

He only realises when he gets up to his room that he hasn’t eaten a single thing today, and, despite still having no appetite, thinks he’ll probably pass out if he doesn’t, so digs out the only thing he has in his room - a bar of chocolate - and forces it down himself. He washes it down with the glass of water, wishing he’d taken a bigger glass, and settles back down in bed, feeling the exhaustion catching up with him. Fucking finally. 

He rolls over, not bothering to close the curtains or plug his phone in, and lets himself drift off into an uneasy, dreamless sleep. 

\------- 

**_5 weeks, 1 day, 13 hours_ **

Ashton doesn’t get up until midday, and then plugs in his dead phone and fucks around on his laptop a bit until he can no longer ignore the growling in his stomach. He hasn’t heard Luke’s door since he woke up, which either means he’s been downstairs the whole time, or he’s holed up in his room, which Ashton prays is the case. He feels a bit woozy as he goes downstairs - he supposes a chocolate bar isn’t really enough to tide an active twenty-five year old man over for a whole day - and decides to just put the kettle on and make some pasta, sinking down into a chair because he doesn’t trust himself to stand up for the length of the time the kettle takes to boil. 

He eats listlessly, not liking the feeling of the food in his mouth and forcing himself to swallow, eating as fast as he can with the ever-present threat of Luke coming downstairs hanging over his head. He makes it safely, though, even managing to wash up and put his pan away before slinking upstairs. He hears Luke’s door click open a few seconds after he’s clicked his own shut, and his stomach flips unpleasantly - conclusive proof that Luke’s actively avoiding him. 

It’s another few hours before Ashton realises he really, really needs to piss, and he hadn’t been paying attention to whether or not Luke had actually come back earlier, so he gives it until he’s pretty much ready to wet himself and then bolts out of his room - straight into Luke, who’s coming up the stairs. 

“Hi,” Luke says, a little nervous. Ashton groans inwardly. This is _not_ the fucking moment. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, eyes flicking to the bathroom door. 

“Can we talk?” Luke says. 

“Uh,” Ashton says, looking towards the bathroom again. “Can it wait?” Luke looks a little taken aback. 

“Oh,” he says, in a small voice. “Uh. I guess.” Ashton nods curtly, mind on nothing but how badly he needs to fucking empty his bladder, and pretty much sprints into the bathroom, sighing in relief as he finally gets to the toilet. 

He starts thinking about what Luke had said as he’s washing his hands - for thirty seconds, of course - and a sense of dread settles in his stomach. What’s Luke going to say? Is he going to end the band? Say he wants to move back to Australia, get away from Ashton? 

Ashton dawdles drying his hands, not wanting to face whatever Luke’s going to throw at him, but eventually, when his hands are starting to actually get exfoliated by the towel, he drops it reluctantly and unlocks the bathroom door, ready to knock on Luke’s door. Just as he’s raising his hand, though, he hears a soft murmur of voices from inside - Luke, and a female voice. He can’t make out what they’re saying, because Luke’s speaking incredibly quietly, but it sounds like it could be Liz on the phone if the accent’s anything to go by. Ashton’s stomach twists. He’s probably getting advice on how to tell Ashton he doesn’t want to be in a band with him anymore. 

He walks into his own room quickly, shutting the door as silently as he can, and flops down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling equal parts incredibly sorry for himself and sick. 

He’s well and truly fucked things up. 

\------- 

**_5 weeks, 4 days, 15 hours_ **

The next few days continue in pretty much the same pattern. 

Ashton gets up and showers, during which time Luke goes downstairs and makes himself breakfast. Ashton waits for Luke to come back before he leaves the bathroom and gets himself brunch, and then waits for Luke to go down to make lunch until he can slip into the basement. Luke makes sure to be done with dinner by eight so Ashton can go upstairs and cook for himself, and then they both spend their evenings locked in their respective rooms. 

It’s fucking miserable. 

Ashton hasn’t had any human contact in, like, four days, and _he’s_ struggling, so he can’t even imagine how Luke’s coping. He can sometimes hear the soft murmur of voices floating through the wall but always puts his headphones on, not wanting to think about Luke ringing around telling people he’s quitting the band as soon as lockdown is over because Ashton came onto him and made things fucking awkward. 

Calling Calum helps, a bit, because he gets it, and he just sits there in silence, going about his day and saying nothing, just so Ashton isn’t sat, desperately lonely, in his room or in the basement. But it’s not the same, and Ashton finds he’s not just missing human contact - he’s missing _Luke_. 

He misses the way they’d bicker over dinner, how Ashton would try and force Luke to take more of a responsibility in cooking and Luke would pout and refuse, misses the way Luke’s face would light up when Ashton complimented him, misses the light-hearted way Luke would tease him for taking two showers a day, misses the warmth of Luke next to him in bed and his blue eyes blinking sleepily up at Ashton in the morning. 

It’s fucking pathetic. Ashton’s never been so broken-hearted, not after any of his breakups. He’s deflated, listless, _lifeless_. 

On the fifth day, however, he’s jolted out of his moping in the late afternoon by a hesitant knock at his door. 

“Yeah?” he says, heart suddenly beating too fast, because it can only be Luke. The door opens, revealing an anxious-looking Luke standing in the doorway. 

“Hi,” Luke says. 

“Hi,” Ashton says, swallowing hard. He looks fucking gorgeous, and Ashton wants nothing more than to reach out, pull him close. He’s suddenly very aware of how disgusting he must look - he’s barely changed out of his pyjamas for almost a week. 

“I, uh. Need to speak to you,” Luke says. Ashton’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Please don’t leave the band,” he says, all in a rush. “I’m- I’m sorry. Just. Please.” Luke’s brow furrows. 

“I’m, uh. Not leaving the band,” he says, and Ashton feels a wave of relief so strong wash over him that were he not lying down, he thinks his knees would buckle. 

“Oh,” he says. “Well. Good.” They stare at each other for a moment. “Uh. What was it that you wanted to talk about?” 

“Oh,” Luke says, as though he’s just remembered, and shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m. Going.” 

“Going?” Ashton’s confused. 

“Yeah,” Luke says nervously. “To Mike and Cal’s.” 

“But you- we’re in lockdown,” Ashton says. 

“Well, I’ve been here long enough that I can be certain I’m not contagious, and the same goes for Mike and Calum,” Luke says. “And I’m not going to leave the house at all after I go to theirs, just in case, and I’m going in my car, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. 

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. I didn’t mean to fuck things up.” 

“It’s okay,” Luke says, sounding a little sad. “You made a mistake. And, like, you can’t help how you feel.” 

“I don’t want you to go,” Ashton blurts, even though that’s fucking obvious, given that he fucking kissed Luke. He scrambles out of bed, lurches to his feet, and takes a step towards Luke before thinking better of it. Luke probably doesn’t want to be near him right now. 

“I- what?” Luke sounds a little confused, and Ashton opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Luke’s phone ringing. Fucking typical. 

“Sorry,” Luke says, and he has the grace to look embarrassed as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I- fuck, sorry, I really should take this. It’s Michael.” 

“Oh,” Ashton says. It kind of stands to reason, because Luke’s about to go to their house. As Luke swipes on his phone, Ashton’s own phone starts buzzing on his bedside table, and he reaches over to see it’s Calum. Fuck it, he thinks, as Luke waits for his phone to connect - if Luke’s going to talk to Michael, he can talk to Calum.

“Don’t fucking come here!” Michael’s voice yells, all of a sudden, making both Luke and Ashton jump. 

“What?” Luke says, sounding bewildered. “Why no-” 

“Don’t let Luke leave!” Calum shouts, and Ashton nearly drops his phone in surprise. 

“What th- are you okay? Are you sick?” Ashton’s first thought is fuck, are they ill? Have they got it? 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Michael says, all in a rush. “I promised I wouldn’t tell Cal, but he mentioned something, and we both-” 

“Is that Michael?” Calum says, and Ashton looks down to see him rushing from their bedroom into the living room. “Mike, are you calling Luke?” 

“Yeah, I have to-” 

“I’m on the phone to Ashton,” Calum says. 

“I’m with Luke,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Michael says. “Well. That makes things easier.” Luke’s phone beeps, and Ashton looks over to see that Michael’s hung up and shuffled into frame on Ashton’s phone. “You guys have to talk to each other.” 

“Mike,” Luke says, and he sounds pleading. He throws Ashton a nervous look. “Don’t.” 

“No, you have to fucking tell him,” Michael presses. 

“Ash, I’m sorry, I didn’t tell him, but Michael worked it out, and-” Calum starts, but Michael interrupts.

“You guys are fucking-” 

“ _Michael_.”

“-okay, you’re _not the most intelligent_ , how’s that?” 

“What the-” Ashton starts indignantly, but Michael cuts him off. 

“Luke, tell him,” he says. 

“Mike, I _told_ you-” 

“Ash,” Calum says, much gentler than Michael. “Why did you kiss Luke?” Ashton blanches. 

“What the fuck?” he whispers, because this wasn’t part of the fucking deal. He told Calum _in confidence_. And sure, Ashton knows, Calum knows, and clearly Luke knows, which is seventy-five percent of the room, but still. It’s a forbidden topic. 

“Why?” Calum pushes. 

“ _Cal_ ,” Ashton says weakly, because he doesn’t think he can take this kind of humiliation in front of his two other best friends. He’s steadfastly not looking at Luke - he doesn’t think he could handle the shame. 

“Why?” Calum asks again, firmly. No one speaks for a good few seconds, and the tension hangs thick in the air.

“Because I like him,” Ashton mumbles eventually, when it becomes clear no one else is going to speak. 

“Fucking finally,” Calum mutters. 

“You- what?” Luke sounds absolutely nonplussed. 

“I like you, okay?” Ashton says, feeling like a fucking fourteen year old. He’s still staring at the floor. “I- I didn’t, and then I did, and. Then I kissed you. And you didn’t, like.” He shrugs, wishing whatever sins he’s committed in his life would all catch up to him at the same time and God would smite him on the spot. 

“But- you ran away,” Luke says, still sounding perplexed. “And when I tried to talk to you, you- you didn’t want to.” 

“What?” Ashton says. “When?” 

“You ran to the bathroom,” Luke says. 

“I- fuck, Luke, I needed to _piss_ ,” Ashton says. 

“Oh,” Luke says. “But. You still ran away.” 

“I was scared,” Ashton says. “Like. If I’d fucked things up, with you, with the band.” 

“Oh,” Luke says again, and Ashton finally chances a look at him. He looks baffled, but a small smile is spreading across his face. 

“Luke?” Michael prompts. 

“I, uh.” Luke swallows, smiling properly now. “I like you too?” 

“Fucking finally,” Michael says, sounding relieved, and then Ashton’s phone beeps. 

They’re alone. 

“You- what?” Ashton’s not quite sure what he’s just heard. 

“I- I thought you knew how I felt, and you regretted it because you ran away, and you didn’t feel the same as me, because I- don’t make me say it again,” Luke says, a pleading note to his voice, but he’s still smiling. “Do you- do you really?” 

“Really what?” 

“Like me,” Luke says, _sounding_ like a fourteen year old. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says boldly. 

“Oh,” Luke says, full-on grinning now. “Oh.” 

“And- and you like me?” Ashton says. “Like, romantically?” Ashton has to be sure that he’s understanding this correctly. 

“Ash, I’ve been trying to hit on you for the past six weeks,” Luke says, rolling his eyes, still grinning. 

“You have?” Ashton says, surprised, and then- oh. _Oh_. Luke watches the realisation dawn on Ashton’s face, and snorts. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says pointedly. 

“Oh,” Ashton says, a warm feeling starting to unfurl in his stomach, a smile forming on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Luke says again, and they stand there for a moment, grinning at each other. 

“So,” Ashton says, a little nervously. “I can kiss you?” 

“ _Please_ ,” Luke says emphatically, and Ashton laughs, elation bubbling in his chest, and crosses the room in two strides to kiss Luke. They’re both still grinning, lips pressed together awkwardly, and Ashton’s momentum makes Luke stumble backwards a little. He finds his balance quickly, though, and wraps an arm around Ashton’s waist, pulling him closer, and Ashton tilts his head a little to give him a better angle. Then - finally - they’re _properly_ kissing, Luke’s lips slotted soft and warm against Ashton’s. Ashton slides one hand to the nape of Luke’s neck, resting in the nest of curls there, and slips the other around Luke’s waist, trying to imprint this moment - the feeling of Luke against him, around him - in his memory forever, atom for atom. 

They kiss a little tentatively at first, unsure what the boundary is, what’s okay, but the tension soon drains from Luke’s shoulders and he kisses a little more desperately, a little more like he has something to prove. Ashton tries not to think about the little keening noises Luke’s making, tries not to let them go straight to his dick, but kisses back harder, steadying Luke with the arm around his waist when it seems like he might stumble again. 

Eventually, the kiss turns slow, languid, easy, as it really sinks in - Ashton’s _kissing Luke_ , and Luke’s _kissing back_. Something’s burning warm in Ashton’s stomach, heating him from the inside out, spreading through his veins like lazy flames, making him smile into the kiss, and feels Luke smiling against his lips too. 

Eventually, Ashton breaks away, a little breathless, and he’s not sure whether that’s because of the kiss or because of Luke. 

“Fuck,” he says, dropping his head onto Luke’s shoulder and pressing a soft kiss there. 

“We just kissed,” Luke says, and he sounds kind of awe-struck. 

“We did that, like, last week,” Ashton points out. 

“Shut up,” Luke says, and it’s fond, and it sounds like Calum speaking to Michael, and Ashton doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

“So,” he says hopefully, drawing back a little to look at Luke. He kind of likes that Luke’s a little taller than him, likes that he feels a little small and protected in Luke’s arms. “Does this mean you’re going to sleep in here again?” 

Luke just grins at him. 

\-------

**_8 weeks, 3 days, 13 hours_ **

“I am _not_ moving that fucking bed out of your room,” Luke says pointedly, drying the glass Ashton hands him with a tea towel. 

“Well, I’m not having my bed get splattered with paint because _you_ don’t know how to handle a paintbrush,” Ashton shoots back, scrubbing a plate. Luke scowls at him. 

“I know how to handle a fucking paintbrush,” Luke says sulkily, putting the glass back in the cupboard, and then brightens a little as he smirks, and adds: “I know how to handle a lot of things.” 

“The truth not being one of them, apparently,” Ashton says, dodging the towel that Luke swats in his direction. “C’mon, Luke. We’re stuck at home, we’ve watched every film on Netflix, we’ve fucked ourselves raw - we’ve run out of condoms, actually, is that on the shopping list?”

“Yeah,” Luke says.

“Right,” Ashton continues, “we’ve fucked ourselves raw, we’ve decorated your room, we’ve written songs, and we’ve already got the paint.” Luke groans, tipping his head back in frustration. 

“I don’t want to have to spend a whole week dodging a bed in the bathroom again,” Luke says. 

“Well, if you’re not such a fucking bitch about it this time, it’ll be done in less than a week,” Ashton notes, handing him the last bit of cutlery to dry off and draining the sink. Luke flips him off after drying the cutlery, placing it back in the drawer and hanging the tea towel off the front of the oven. 

“I was _not_ a bitch about it,” he says petulantly, but he’s slipping his arms around Ashton’s waist as he says it, resting his chin on Ashton’s shoulder. It sends a thrill shooting through Ashton’s body, the same thrill he’s been experiencing for a good three weeks now - Luke is _his_ , now. Still his best friend, still doesn’t pick up his fucking towels in the morning, still stomps away from an argument and then comes running back a few minutes later, but also _more_ , also the man who kisses Ashton’s temple softly when he thinks Ashton’s asleep, who moans so fucking prettily when Ashton’s in between his thighs, who reaches for Ashton’s hand when he’s scrolling through his phone, just because. Ashton hums at the thought, tilting his head to one side to make room for Luke, and slots his wet fingers in between Luke’s, who makes a noise of disgust. 

“Gross,” he complains, and Ashton grins, spinning around in Luke’s grasp and looping his arms around his neck, letting his fingers trail cold and wet down Luke’s spine. Luke shivers and squirms, but doesn’t try to pull away. “Stop it, ew.” 

“Say you’ll help me move the furniture out of my room,” Ashton says, wiping the back of his fingers on Luke’s neck. Luke brings his shoulders up to his ears in an attempt to stop Ashton’s hands moving. 

“Fine, fuck, I’ll help you move the fucking bed,” Luke says, and Ashton stops, and leans up to press a chaste kiss to Luke’s lips. 

“That’s all you had to say, sweetheart,” he says, and Luke smiles at him, bright and mischievous. 

“I said the bed,” he says. “You’re on your own with the wardrobe.” 

“Arsehole,” Ashton says, but he’s grinning too. 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Luke says, and he sounds a little nervous. 

“God, you’re getting experimental,” Ashton says, earning himself another scowl from Luke. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Luke says. “I kind of like LA, now I’ve got you here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ashton says, trying not to look like his heart is bursting at the idea that _he’s_ the reason Luke’s changed his mind on LA. “Are you going to buy yourself a place?” Luke bites his lip. 

“Well,” he says, and it dawns on Ashton what he’s saying. 

“Oh,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face. “Luke Hemmings, are you asking me to ask you to move in?” Luke drops his forehead onto Ashton’s shoulder. 

“No,” he says weakly, sounding embarrassed. Ashton shrugs his shoulder, forcing Luke to move his head back up. 

“You are,” he says teasingly. “You want to live with me.” 

“I _do_ live with you,” Luke says. 

“You know what I mean,” Ashton says. 

“Fuck you,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words, just a touch of self-consciousness. “You can just say no.” 

“I’m not saying no,” Ashton says. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re saying yes.” 

“Alright, how does this sound?” Ashton says, using his arms around Luke’s neck to pull him closer. “What should we do with the spare room?” Luke frowns at him for a moment, then, as realisation dawns on him, a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “I mean, we already live together. Plus, you have a house in Vegas, and I want a holiday home.” Luke snorts. 

“I think we should turn it into a studio,” Luke says, and it takes Ashton a moment to remember what he’s talking about. 

“I have a studio,” he says. 

“Yeah, in the _basement,_ you fucking vampire,” Luke says. 

“How much money do you think I have?” Ashton demands. “I can’t just rebuild my entire studio upstairs because golden boy wants to catch some fucking rays.” He doesn’t miss the way Luke’s lips quirk up at ‘golden boy’. 

“Okay, how about a gaming room?” 

“You don’t even play that much,” Ashton says. Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking hell, alright, a sex dungeon,” he suggests sarcastically. Ashton opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. 

“You know what?” he muses, grinning when Luke sighs dramatically. “Alright, how about an office?” Luke frowns. 

“You have an office,” he says. 

“Your office,” Ashton says. Luke blinks, and then smiles. 

“Oh,” he says, sounding way too happy for someone talking about offices. “I mean. I’d rather just have a desk in your office.” Ashton rolls his eyes then, hard. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” he says. “I guess it’ll just have to stay a guest room.” Luke pulls Ashton tighter to him, their bodies pressed against each other top to toe. 

“You better not be planning on inviting any other hot young men living in Vegas around,” he says warningly. Ashton blinks up at him, a small smile unfurling on his lips. 

“I’ve already got the best one,” he says, and Luke grins at him. 

“You’re a fucking romantic,” he says. 

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” Ashton continues, eyes glinting, and Luke squawks indignantly and squeezes Ashton’s waist, making him squeal and squirm in Luke’s grasp. “Dickhead,” he says, when the sensation fades. Luke just grins, and presses a kiss to Ashton’s forehead. 

“I love you,” Luke says, and Ashton’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 

“I love you too,” Ashton says, and he’s not quite sure how he means it, but that’s okay. 


End file.
